The child screamed, the father swore softly. There was a succession of exclamations from the crowd. A colored attendant, who chanced to be passing with a bundle of straw, dropped his burden to stare, open mouthed, at the cage.
When he again put his trembling fingers to the bundle of straw, it was to mutter:
“Tain’t no safe place fer a ’spectable colored man to wuck. ’T’ain’ safe. All dem raid flashes ever’whar. Can’t fry po’k chops fer ’em. Can’t wuck, can’t do nuttin’.”
That night, after the grand performance was concluded, after the surging crowd had passed out, after the arc lights had fluttered, blinked, and then left the place in darkness, Johnny went out for a breath of fresh air before turning into the bunk assigned to him. He was walking around the end of the big top when a sudden flash of crimson appeared against the canvas. It was a flash only, remaining not one second, but Johnny paused to listen.
In another moment there came a whispered, “Hello, Johnny,” and Pant appeared.
“You work for this circus?” Johnny asked.
“No. You?”
“Yes, got a job to-day.”
“What?”
“Horses.”