“Why didn’t you let me help cut the ropes?” he asked Alf.
“Cut the ropes?” asked Alf. “Why, child, how you do talk! Nobody didn’t cut no ropes!”
“Then how did they get the tent down?” persisted Gerald, looking from Alf to Dan and from Dan to Tom.
“Well,” said Alf, settling himself comfortably on the window-seat, “that’s what you might term a coincidence. Of course we don’t know anything for certain, but it does look as though the guy-ropes all got loosened at the same moment. Then the natural thing happened; the tent came down. It certainly was a surprise to me! Why, I no more looked for anything like that to happen than—than—”
“Well,” laughed Tom, “it means that there won’t be any circus for Yardley next Spring.”
“Which is a very good thing,” responded Alf virtuously. “I am convinced that circuses are bad for us; they take our thoughts away from our studies, and—and lead us into temptation. No circus, no tent; no tent, no guy-ropes; no guy-ropes, no—ahem—coincidences!”
“Besides,” said Tom, “you and I will be too busy trying to pass final exams to have any time for circuses.”
“That’s all right for you fellows,” said Gerald mournfully, “but I like circuses, and I want to go next year.”
“Away with vain regrets,” cried Alf gayly. “Comfort yourself with the knowledge that you have witnessed the glorification of Yardley and the discomfiture of Broadwood. Recall, I pray, the lines of the poet: