“You bet we don’t! Not when we have an engagement. We’ve ridden in Pullman cars—haven’t we, Pop?”
The man nodded. He did not say much but watched Agnes with eyes that, in a child, the girl would have thought expressed terror. Barnabetta was much the stronger character of the two, the Corner House girl was positive.
“But where are you traveling now?” asked the interested Agnes.
“We’re aimin’ on gettin’ South, miss. There’s tent shows there all winter long,” said the man, plaintively. “I’ve been laid up with my ankle, and it’s too late to get any bookings worth while through the usual vaudeville agencies. We been workin’ for Twomley & Sorber’s Herculean Circus and Menagerie; but of course they’re in winter quarters now at Tiverton. That’s where I got hurt—right at the end of the season, too.”
Agnes’ brain was working busily. Twomley & Sorber’s at Tiverton. Tiverton was where the letter was postmarked that had taken Neale O’Neil away from home so strangely. The talk she had just overheard assured her that these two circus performers had been conversing about Neale and the old album full of money and bonds that he had taken away with him.
But she caught the disguised Barnabetta watching her very sharply. That girl’s black eyes were like glittering steel points. They seemed to say: “How much does this girl who listened guess—how much does she suspect—how much does she know?”
“We’ve got to work up some kind of patter to go with our act if we strike a job,” said Barnabetta, still with her eyes fixed on the Corner House girl. “You’ve got to have something new if you expect to put any act over these days. Pop’s a good joey—”
“I suppose you mean a clown?” asked Agnes.
“Yep. How’d you know?” sharply retorted Barnabetta.
“I—I’ve heard the word used before,” admitted Agnes, seeing that she had been unwise. “Then you know circus folks?” observed the suspicious trapeze artist.