“We’re here to-day and away to-morrow. Now! Round and round she goes. Where she stops, nobody knows!”
“Anyway,” he grumbled low to himself, “I give ’em something when they do win. No clock that won’t run, nor painted plaster-of-paris doll for me. Real basket of groceries: oatmeal, peas, canned fish and a picnic ham.
“There you are, lady!” he shouted as the wheel stopped on the lucky 15. “Take this home for your Sunday dinner.” The crowd laughed and applauded as a short, stout Italian woman stumped away with her prize.
At that moment, from opposite directions, two youths pressed into the throng, each to deposit a dime on a favorite square. One was rather tall and broad shouldered; the other thin and of medium height. The one of athletic build was dressed as a college youth, and looked the part; latest stiff hat, bright tie, natty brown suit and spats he wore. The other seemed a freckle-faced country youth. He wore a soft slouch hat. His clothes fitted him badly. He even walked with that curious stride that suggests the lifting of feet from soft earth.
Johnny moved each dime to the center of its square and twirled the wheel. As he did so the college youth winked, and the freckled one, talking from the side of his mouth, said distinctly:
“They’re all here. Greasy Thumb and his gang. Saw ’em just now. Greasy is running a wheel. Rest are cappers. Wonder why.”
The next moment, without waiting to discover the results of the wheel’s turn, both college boy and country youth disappeared into the milling throng.
Johnny smiled, frowned, then gave himself over to the business of tending a spindle wheel at the “Greatest of all Carnivals.”
* * * * * * * *
The shouts and screams of the merry-makers had subsided to a murmur. The raucous grind of the merry-go-round organ was still. Lights were low. The night’s work was done. Behind closed tents the concession holders counted their nickels and dimes. Fat wives quarreled with slim husbands and grumbled about hard times that dwarfed their earnings. Slender girls of doubtful age combed their peroxide-blonde hair and flirted with boys in tight fitting suits. From this tent came a gurgle of laughter, from that a shout of derision. For, after all, the Carnival King and his crowd are as carefree a lot of ne’er-do-wells as one is likely to find in many a day’s travel. There is more truth than poetry in the expression so often at the tips of their tongues: “We’re here to-day and away to-morrow.”