Polly of the Circus | Page 9

gone on his way with a cheery nod and an unconquerable conviction of right, that had only left them floundering. He intended to quit the room now unnoticed, but was unfortunate enough to upset a chair as he turned from the table. This brought a chorus of exclamations from the women, who chattering rushed quickly toward him.
"What do you think of my naughty boy, Willie?" simpered the widow. "He dragged me quite to the window."
Douglas glanced amusedly first at the five- foot-six widow and then at the helpless, red- haired urchin by her side, but he made no comment beyond offering a chair to each of the women.
"Our choir practice had to be entirely discontinued," declared Miss Perkins sourly, as she accepted the proffered chair, adjusted her skirts for a stay, and glanced defiantly at the parson, who had dutifully seated himself near the table.
"I am sure I have as true an ear as anybody," whimpered the widow, with an injured air; "but I defy ANY ONE to lead 'What Shall the Harvest Be?' to an accompaniment like THAT." She jerked her hand in the direction of the window. The band was again playing the "hoochie coochie."
"Never mind about the choir practice," said Douglas, with a smile. "It is SOUL not SKILL that our congregation needs in its music. As for that music out there, it is NOT without its compensations. Why, the small boys would rather hear that band than the finest church organ in the world."
"And the SMALL BOYS would rather see the circus than to hear you preach, most likely," snapped Miss Perkins. It was adding insult to injury for him to try to CONSOLE her.
"Of course they would; and so would some of the grown-ups if they'd only tell the truth about it," said Douglas, laughing.
"What!" exclaimed Miss Perkins.
"Why not?" asked Douglas. "I am sure I don't know what they do inside the tents, but the parade looked very promising."
"The PARADE!" the two women echoed in one breath. "Did YOU see the parade?"
"Yes, indeed," said Douglas, enthusiastically. "But it didn't compare with the one I saw at the age of eight." He turned his head to one side and looked into space with a reminiscent smile. The widow's red-haired boy crept close to him.
"The Shetland ponies seemed as small as mice," he continued, dreamily, "the elephants huge as mountains, the great calliope wafted my soul to the very skies, and I followed that parade right into the circus lot."
"Did you seed inside de tent?" Willie asked, eagerly.
"I didn't have enough money for that," Douglas answered, frankly. He turned to the small boy and pinched his ear. There was sad disappointment in the youngster's face, but he brightened again, when the parson confessed that he "peeped."
"A parson peeping!" cried the thin-lipped Miss Perkins.
"I was not a parson then," corrected Douglas, good-naturedly.
"You were GOING to be," persisted the spinster.
"I had to be a boy first, in spite of that fact."
The sudden appearance of Hasty proved a diversion. He was looking very sheepish.
"Hyar he is, Mars John; look at him!" said Mandy.
"Hasty, where have you been all day?" demanded Douglas, severely.
Hasty fumbled with his hat and sparred for time. "Did yo' say whar's I been, sah?"
"Dat's what he done ast yo'," Mandy prompted, threateningly.
"I bin 'ceived, Mars John," declared Hasty, solemnly. Mandy snorted incredulously. Douglas waited.
"A gemmen in de circus done tole me dis mawnin' dat ef I carry water fo' de el'phants, he'll let me in de circus fo' nuffin', an' I make a 'greement wid him. Mars John, did yo' ebber seed an' el'phant drink?" he asked, rolling his eyes. John shook his head.
"Well, sah, he jes' put dat trunk a'his'n into de pail, jes' once an--swish--water gone."
Douglas laughed; and Mandy muttered, sullenly.
"Well, sah," continued Hasty, "I tote water fo' dem el'phants all day long, an' when I cum roun' to see de circus, de gemmen won't let me in. An' when I try to crawl under de tent, dey pulls me out by de laigs an' beats me." He looked from one to the other expecting sympathy.
"Serves you right," was Mandy's unfeeling reply. "If yo's so anxious to be a-totin' water, jes' yo' come along outside and tote some fo' Mandy."
"I can't do no mo' carryin', Mandy," protested Hasty. "I'se hurted in mah arm."
"What hurt yo'?"
"Tiger."
"A tiger?" exclaimed the women in unison.
"Done chawed it mos' off," he declared, solemnly. "Deacon Elverson, he seed it, an' he says I's hurt bad."
"Deacon Elverson?" cried the spinster. "Was Deacon Elverson at the circus?"
"He was in de lot, a-tryin' to look in, same as me," Hasty answered, innocently.
"You'd better take Hasty into the kitchen," said Douglas to Mandy, with a dry smile; "he's talking too much for a wounded man."
Mandy disappeared with the disgraced Hasty, advising him with fine scorn