Elverson was thrust from the tent soon after, spitting sawdust and much discomfited by the laughing performers who followed him. His knees almost gave way beneath him when Barker came out of the ring, snapping his long, black whip.
“Get out of here, you bloke!” roared Barker. And Elverson “got.”
No one had remembered to tell the groom that Polly was not to ride to-night. So Bingo was brought out as usual, when their “turn” approached.
“Take him back, Tom,” Polly called from the entrance, when she learned that Bingo was waiting, “and bring Barbarian. I'm not going on to-night. Eloise is going to ride in my place.”
This was the second time to-day that Bingo had been led away without going into the ring. Something in his big, wondering eyes made Polly follow him and apologise. He was very proud, was Bingo, and very conscientious. He felt uneasy when he saw the other horses going to their work without him.
“Never mind, Bingo,” she said, patting his great, arched neck, “we'll show 'em to-morrow.” He rubbed his satiny nose against her cheek. “We'll make them SIT UP again. Barker says our act's no good—that I've let down. But it's not YOUR fault, Bingo. I've not been fair to you. I'll give you a chance to-morrow. You wait. He'll never say it again, Bingo! Never again!” She watched him go out of the lot, and laughed a little as he nipped the attendant on the arm. He was still irritated at not going into the ring.
Polly had nothing more to do to-night except to get into her street clothes. The wagons would soon be moving away. For a moment she glanced at the dark church steeple, then she turned to go inside the tent. A deep, familiar voice stopped her.
“Polly!”
She turned quickly. She could not answer. Douglas came toward her. He gazed at her in amazement. She drew her cape about her slightly clad figure. She seemed older to him, more unapproachable with her hair heaped high and sparkling with jewels. Her bodice of satin and lace shimmered through the opening of her cape. The moonlight lent mystery and indecision to her betinselled attire. The band was playing the andante for the balancing act.
She found strength at last to open her lips, but still no sound came from them. She and the pastor looked at each other strangely, like spirits newly met from far-apart worlds. She, too, thought her companion changed. He was older, the circles beneath his eyes were deeper, the look in their depths more grave.