The song was ended. The footlights flashed high. There was a burst of blatant music—a blare: unfeeling and discordant. It grated agonizingly. The boy's sensitive ear rebelled. He shuddered.... Screen and curtain disappeared. In the brilliant light beyond, a group of brazen women began to cavort and sing. Their voices were harsh and out of tune. At once the faces in the shadow started into eager interest—the eyes flashing, with some strangely evil passion, unknown to the child, but acutely felt.... There was a shrill shout of welcome—raised by the women, without feeling. Down the stage, her person exposed, bare-armed, throwing shameless glances, courting the sensual stare, grinning as though in joyous sympathy with the evil of the place, came a woman with blinding blonde hair.
It was the boy's mother.
"Millie!" the acrobat ejaculated.
The boy had not moved. He was staring at the woman on the stage. A flush of shame, swiftly departing, had left his face white. Presently he trembled. His lips twitched—his head drooped. The man laid a comforting hand on his knee. A tear splashed upon it.
"I didn't know she was here, Dick!" the acrobat whispered. "It's a shame. But I didn't know. And I—I'm—sorry!"
The boy looked up. He called a smile to his face. It was a brave pretense. But his face was still wan.
"I think I'd like to go home," he answered, weakly. "It's—time—for tea."
"Don't feel bad, Dick! It's all right. She's all right."
"If you please," said the boy, still resolutely pretending ignorance, "I think I'd like to go—now."
The acrobat waited for a blast of harsh music to subside. The boy's mother began to sing—a voice trivially engaged: raised beyond its strength. A spasm of distress contorted the boy's face.