“You can't do no good that way,” answered Jim. “She don't want ter see you again.”
“Why not?”
“I don't know, but she told me she'd run away if I ever even talked to you about her.”
“You needn't talk, Jim; I'll talk for myself. Where is she?”
“She'll be comin' out soon. You can wait around out here with me. I'll let you know in time.” He led the way through a narrow passage between the wagons.
Jim and Douglas had barely left the lot when Deacon Elverson's small, round head slipped cautiously around the corner of the dressing tent. The little deacon glanced exultantly about him. He was monarch of all he surveyed. It was very thrilling to stand here, on this forbidden ground, smelling the saw-dust, gazing at the big red wagons, studying the unprotected circus properties, and listening to the lightening tempo of the band.
“Did you see him?” shouted Strong, who had followed closely upon Elverson's heels.
The little deacon started. Strong was certainly a disturbing factor at times.
“Yes, I—I saw him.”
“Well?”