“You’d get smashed yourself,” said Ben. “Now aren’t you ashamed, Joel; everybody’s looking at us. Mamsie will have to take us home if you act so.”
Joel’s fists flew apart, and he glanced quickly around. “There isn’t anybody,” he began, but an old woman in a poke bonnet came up. “Is the little boy sick?” she asked, in great concern.
“No,” said Ben, “I’m afraid he’s naughty.”
“That’s very bad,” said the old woman severely and shaking her poke bonnet at him. “I sh’d take him right home if I was you. Folks want to enjoy a circus and th’ animiles in peace without having boys act like Kedar.”
“I think he’s going to be good,” said Ben. His face was very red, and he would have given a great deal to have the old woman pass along. Oh, if Mamsie and the others were to come up! But she stayed. “I d’now,” she said, “I don’t set no gret by boys. You never know what they’re up to unless they’re sick. Sure he ain’t?” She peered at Joel’s little scowling face, and drew out a small bottle from a black silk bag dangling on her arm. “Now two or three drops of this,” and she pulled out the cork.
It smelt dreadfully as it was put under Joel’s little nose, and he bobbed his head back and threw up his arm. Away went the bottle with the black stuff, and the old woman with the poke bonnet ran after it, as it fell on the sawdust just inside the rope ring.
“Here, keep out of there!” roared a circus man, tearing along up, and leaping the rope, he seized her shawl.
“I’m getting my bottle,” she said angrily, “that boy there,” she pointed to Joel, “threw it over here, and he’s spilt, most all of my med’cine.” She held it up to the light.
“Oh, no,” said Ben, hurrying over, “my brother didn’t throw it—it was an accident.”
“She stuck it up to my nose,” said Joel, hurrying up, wrathfully, “she hadn’t any business to. She is a bad old woman.”