Polly of the Circus | Page 3

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POLLY OF THE CIRCUS BY MARGARET MAYO

To My "KLEINE MUTTER"
Chapter I
The band of the "Great American Circus" was playing noisily. The
performance was in full swing.
Beside a shabby trunk in the women's dressing tent sat a young,
wistful-faced girl, chin in hand, unheeding the chatter of the women
about her or the picturesque disarray of the surrounding objects. Her
eyes had been so long accustomed to the glitter and tinsel of circus
fineries that she saw nothing unusual in a picture that might have held a
painter spellbound.
Circling the inside of the tent and forming a double line down the

centre were partially unpacked trunks belching forth impudent masses
of satins, laces, artificial hair, paper flowers, and paste jewels. The
scent of moist earth mingled oddly with the perfumed odours of the
garments heaped on the grass. Here and there high circles of lights
threw a strong, steady glare upon the half-clad figure of a robust
acrobat, or the thin, drooping shoulders of a less stalwart sister.
Temporary ropes stretched from one pole to another, were laden with
bright- coloured stockings, gaudy, spangled gowns, or dusty street
clothes, discarded by the performers before slipping into their circus
attire. There were no nails or hooks, so hats and veils were pinned to
the canvas walls.
The furniture was limited to one camp chair in front of each trunk, the
till of which served as a tray for the paints, powders and other
essentials of "make-up."
A pail of water stood by the side of each chair, so that the performers
might wash the delicately shaded tights, handkerchiefs and other small
articles not to be entrusted to the slow, careless process of the village
laundry. Some of these had been washed to-night and hung to dry on
the lines between the dusty street garments.
Women whose "turns" came late sat about half-clothed reading,
crocheting or sewing, while others added pencilled eyebrows, powder
or rouge to their already exaggerated "make-ups." Here and there a
child was putting her sawdust baby to sleep in the till of her trunk,
before beginning her part in the evening's entertainment. Young and
old went about their duties with a systematic, business-like air, and
even the little knot of excited women near Polly--it seemed that one of
the men had upset a circus tradition--kept a sharp lookout for their
"turns."
"What do you think about it, Polly?" asked a handsome brunette, as she
surveyed herself in the costume of a Roman charioteer.
"About what?" asked Polly vacantly.
"Leave Poll alone; she's in one of her trances!" called a motherly,

good-natured woman whose trunk stood next to Polly's, and whose
business was to support a son and three daughters upon stalwart
shoulders, both figuratively and literally.
"Well, I ain't in any trance," answered the dark girl, "and I think it's
pretty tough for him to take up with a rank outsider, and expect us to
warm up to her as though he'd married one of our own folks." She
tossed her head, the pride of class distinction welling high in her ample
bosom.
"He ain't asking us to warm up to her," contradicted Mademoiselle
Eloise, a pale, light- haired sprite, who had arrived late and was making
undignified efforts to get out of her clothes by way of her head. She
was Polly's understudy and next in line for the star place in the bill.
"Well, Barker has put her into the 'Leap of Death' stunt, ain't he?"
continued the brunette. " 'Course that ain't a regular circus act," she
added, somewhat mollified, "and so far she's had to dress with the
'freaks,' but the next thing we know, he'll be ringin' her in on a regular
stunt and be puttin' her in to dress with US."
"No danger of that," sneered the blonde; "Barker is too old a stager to
mix up his sheep and his goats."
Polly had again lost the thread of the conversation. Her mind had gone
roving to the night when the frightened girl about whom they were
talking had made