And yet she had come here—and that was cruel; and she was not cruel. Could she know that I had a shred of pride left—one little, ragged thread of pride left in me—that she should come to see me do my mountebank tricks to the applause of a greasy throng?
No, she had not thought of that, else she would have stayed away; for she was kind, above all else—generous and kind.
Speed passed me in ring-master’s dress; there came the hollow thud of hoofs as Mrs. Grigg galloped into the ring on her white mare, gauze skirts fluttering, whip raised; and, “Hoop-la!” squealed the clown as his pretty little wife went careering around and around the tan-bark, leaping through paper-hoops, over hurdles, while the band played frantically and the Bretons shouted in an ecstasy of excitement.
Then Grigg mounted his little trick donkey; roars of laughter greeted his discomfiture when Tim, the donkey, pitched him headlong and cantered off with a hee-haw of triumph.
Miss Delany tripped past me in her sky-blue tights to hold the audience spellbound with her jugglery, and spin plates and throw glittering knives until the satiated people turned to welcome Horan and his “cogged” dumbbells and clubs. 297
“Have you seen her?” whispered Speed, coming up to me, long whip trailing.
I shook my head.
He looked at me in disgust. “Here’s something for you,” he said, shortly, and thrust an envelope into my hand.
In the envelope was a little card on which was written: “I ask you to be careful, for a friend’s sake.” On the other side of the card was engraved her name.
I raised my head and looked at Speed, who began to laugh nervously. “That’s better,” he said; “you don’t look like a surly brute any more.”