“And suppose Lily had broken her leg with her nonsense?” asked Ma indignantly. “Where would your New York be?”
Pa felt himself a conquering hero when they steamed through the Golden Gate: the States at last! And no sooner was his foot on the wharf at ’Frisco than off to the agents at once, with his photographs, his contracts, his posters! But it was her birth-certificate they asked to see. And no babes and sucklings allowed on the stage here. It was all right down yonder, but the law prevented it here.
“Damn your laws!” snapped Pa furiously. “Do you think we make stars to hide them under bushels?”
And whoosh! Off for Mexico, where children are allowed to perform.
Now, in Arizona, near Phœnix, where the train stopped for some hours, owing to an accident to the Rio Gila bridge, Pa happened upon a merrymaking which reminded him of West Australia. Cow-boys, galloping horses, a pretense at fighting, lassoing, revolvers, a track for amateur cyclists and—yes, there, in the desert!—on a platform, right in the middle, what should Pa see but an amazing artiste, riding on the back-wheel, with the other in the air! And such twirls! And the boys shouted to him:
“Hullo, Trampy! Have a drink, Trampy!”
And Trampy accepted:
“With you, my lord! As soon as I’ve done, my lord!”
And off he wheeled, head on the saddle, feet in the air, whistling Yankee Doodle!
It was impossible! Pa rubbed his eyes: what! Was this what they did in the States in the desert? And he who had hoped, with Lily ... why, damn it, Lily knew nothing! He himself, her manager, knew less than nothing! He, who thought he had formed a star! Pa was red with shame. And, suddenly, he had a happy thought: he, too, offered Trampy a drink, something to propose to him....