“I’d like to know what you were hidin’ behind that pile of ties and listenin’ to us for?” said the circus girl.
“I told you how I came to do that.”
“I don’t believe you,” was the flat reply.
Agnes was too impulsive to let this stand without answering. She whirled and spoke hotly to the trapeze performer:
“I tell you the truth. I doubt if you tell me the truth. Why were you so afraid of being overheard, if all that talk about the money you saw in the book was just play-acting?”
“You are too smart,” snarled Barnabetta.
“I am smart enough to know that you are trying to fool me. I’m not going to believe you at all—not a word you say. I don’t like you. I’m going to Mr. Buckham’s—so now!”
Barnabetta sprang forward, crying: “You’re not goin’ so fast! Is she, Pop?”
Agnes had forgotten the clown. He had come silently around the other side of the fire—evidently at some signal from Barnabetta—and was now right at her elbow.
“Grab her, Pop! Don’t let her get away!” cried the circus girl, commandingly.