“Joel—Joel!” Ben’s face was scarlet. The circus man took the bottle and gave it a good smell.
“Phew!” he said, giving it back hastily. “Well I’d ’a’ throw’d it to Halifax. Now get out o’ here,” he helped her over the rope, “we don’t want no old women with bottles makin’ trouble. I’ve a good mind to put you out.” He kept hold of her shawl.
The old woman, with a trembling hand, put the cork back into the little bottle. She began to whimper. “Oh, don’t do that. I’ve never ben to a circus, an’ I’ve saved my money for ever so long. Don’t put me out, Mister.”
Joel swallowed hard; then he plunged over. “You mustn’t put her out. I sha’n’t let you.”
“Hello!” the circus man looked down at the small figure, then he whistled.
“No, I sha’n’t,” said Joel, tossing his head and his black eyes flashed. “She thought I was sick.”
“That’s it,” the old woman mumbled, “I thought he was sick, and—”
“And I didn’t want medicine,” Joel hurried on, “and it smelt.”
“I sh’d think it did,” the circus man rubbed his nose. “Well, that’s another thing, if you want her to stay. But I thought you said she was bad.”
Joel hung his head, and the hot color rushed all over his little face.