“The New Trickers! Daisy Woolly-legs!” stammered Lily, turning pale. “Who told you so?”
“I’m sure of it, I had it from Jimmy himself,” replied Nunkie.
“Jimmy told you? And what has Jimmy to do with it?” asked Lily, anguish-stricken.
“What has he to do with it? Why, he’s simply going to top the bill,” said Nunkie. “And, besides, Harrasford has left it to him to make out the program. Why, didn’t you know?... Your friend Jimmy...?”
She was in the street once more, feeling weak-kneed and light-headed. She leaned on Glass-Eye’s arm; she had a pain in her side from the emotion. She felt inclined to enter a café, to get drunk on champagne, to forget.
The next day an awful headache made her keep her room.
“To-morrow,” she said to Glass-Eye, “to-morrow I will fetch my bike.”
She dared not go out; she felt as if it was written on her forehead:
“The New Trickers at the Astrarium! Daisy Woolly-legs at the Astrarium and not you!”
And, “to-morrow,” again she spent the day stretched on her bed. And the next day, well, as she had to ... as her bike was her bread-winner, after all ... her only bread-winner, whatever happened!...