Polly of the Circus | Page 6

absently toward the
church as he sat fumbling with the lock of the little brown satchel.
He had gone from store to store in the various towns where they had
played looking for something to inspire wonder in the heart of a miss,
newly arrived at her sixteenth year. Only the desperation of a last
moment had forced him to decide upon the imitation alligator bag,
which he now held in his hand.
It looked small and mean to him as the moment of presentation
approached, and he was glad that the saleswoman in the little country
store had suggested the addition of ribbons and laces, which he now
drew from the pocket of his corduroys. He placed his red and blue
treasures very carefully in the bottom of the satchel, and remembered
with regret the strand of coral beads which he had so nearly bought to
go with them.
He opened the large property trunk by his side, and took from it a
laundry box, which held a little tan coat, that was to be Toby's
contribution to the birthday surprise. He was big- hearted enough to be
glad that Toby's gift seemed finer and more useful than his.
It was only when the "Leap of Death" act preceding Polly's turn was
announced, that the big fellow gave up feasting his eyes on the satchel
and coat, and hid them away in the big property trunk. She would be
out in a minute, and these wonders were not to be revealed to her until
the close of the night's performance.
Jim put down the lid of the trunk and sat upon it, feeling like a criminal
because he was hiding something from Polly.

His consciousness of guilt was increased as he recalled how often she
had forbidden Toby and himself to rush into reckless extravagances for
her sake, and how she had been more nearly angry than he had ever
seen her, when they had put their month's salaries together to buy her
the spangled dress for her first appearance. It had taken a great many
apologies and promises as to their future behaviour to calm her, and
now they had again disobeyed her. It would be a great relief when
to-night's ordeal was over.
Jim watched Polly uneasily as she came from the dressing tent and
stopped to gaze at the nearby church steeple. The incongruity of the
slang, that soon came from her delicately formed lips, was lost upon
him as she turned her eyes toward him.
"Say, Jim," she said, with a Western drawl, "them's a funny lot of guys
what goes to them church places, ain't they?"
"Most everybody has got some kind of a bug," Jim assented; "I guess
they don't do much harm."
" 'Member the time you took me into one of them places to get me out a
the rain, the Sunday our wagon broke down? Well, that bunch WE
butted into wouldn't a give Sell's Brothers no cause for worry with that
show a' theirn, would they, Jim?" She looked at him with withering
disgust. "Say, wasn't that the punkiest stunt that fellow in black was
doin' on the platform? You said Joe was only ten minutes gettin' the tire
onto our wheel, but say, you take it from me, Jim, if I had to wait
another ten minutes as long as that one, I'd be too old to go on a-ridin'."
Jim " 'lowed" some church shows might be better than "that un," but
Polly said he could have her end of the bet, and summed up by
declaring it no wonder that the yaps in these towns was daffy about
circuses, if they didn't have nothin' better an' church shows to go to.
One of the grooms was entering the lot with Polly's horse. She stooped
to tighten one of her sandals, and as she rose, Jim saw her sway slightly
and put one hand to her head. He looked at her sharply, remembering
her faintness in the parade that morning.

"You ain't feeling right," he said uneasily.
"You just bet I am," Polly answered with an independent toss of her
head. "This is the night we're goin' to make them rubes in there sit up,
ain't it, Bingo?" she added, placing one arm affectionately about the
neck of the big, white horse that stood waiting near the entrance.
"You bin ridin' too reckless lately," said Jim, sternly, as he followed her.
"I don't like it. There ain't no need of your puttin' in all them extra
stunts. Your act is good enough without 'em. Nobody else ever done
'em, an' nobody'd miss 'em if you left 'em out."
Polly turned with a triumphant ring in her voice. The music was
swelling for her entrance.
"You ain't my MOTHER, Jim,