“That was when she was hurt. She's well now, and able to go back where she came from. Do you expect us to have our young folks associatin' with a circus ridin' girl?”
“So, that's it!” cried the pastor, with a pitying look. “You think this child is unfit for your homes because she was once in a circus. For some reason, circus to you spells crime. You call yourself a Christian, Deacon Strong, and yet you insist that I send a good, innocent girl back to a life which you say is sinful. I'm ashamed of you, Strong—I'm ashamed of you!”
“That talk don't do no good with me,” roared Strong. He was desperate at being accused of an unchristian attitude.
“I ain't askin' you to send her back to the circus. I don't care WHERE you send her. Get her away from HERE, that's all.”
“Not so long as she wishes to stay.”
“You won't?” Strong saw that he must try a new attack. He came close to Douglas and spoke with a marked insinuation. “If you was a friend to the girl, you wouldn't want the whole congregation a-pointin' fingers at her.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you're living here alone with her and it looks bad—bad for the girl, and bad for YOU—and folks is talkin'.”
“Are you trying to tell me that my people are evil-minded enough to think that I—” Douglas stopped. He could not frame the question. “I don't believe it,” he concluded shortly.
“You'll be MADE to believe it if you don't get rid of that girl.”