“Some time!” Barker looked at Douglas as though he were to blame for their misfortune. “Well, you just bet she will,” he declared menacingly.
“See here, Barker, don't you talk to him like that,” said Jim, facing the manager. “He's darned square even if he is a parson.” Barker turned away. He was not a bad-hearted man, but he was irritated and upset at losing the star feature of his bill.
“Ain't this my dod-gasted luck?” he muttered to himself, as his eye again travelled to the boss canvas-man. “You get out a' here, Jim,” he shouted, “an' start them wagons. The show's got to go on, Poll or no Poll.”
He turned with his hand on the door-knob and jerked out a grudging thanks to the pastor. “It's all fired good of you to take her in,” he said, “but it's tough to lose her. Good night!” He banged the door and clattered down the steps.
Jim waited. He was trying to find words in which to tell his gratitude. None came; and he turned to go with a short “good-bye!”
“Good night, Jim,” said the pastor. He crossed the room and took the big fellow's hand.
“Much obliged,” Jim answered gruffly. It was his only polite phrase, and he had taught Polly to say it. Douglas waited until Jim had passed down the steps, then turned to Toby, who still lingered near the table.
“You'll tell her how it was, me and Jim had to leave her without sayin' 'good-bye,' won't you, sir?” Toby pleaded.
“Yes, indeed,” Douglas promised.
“I'll jes' put this little bit o' money into her satchel.” He picked up the little brown bag that was to have been Polly's birthday gift. “Me an' Jim will be sendin' her more soon.”