The Hippodrome | Page 6

evening
performances. For the first act she could wear a habit of any colour she
cared to choose, and a smart hat; for the second act, which included
jumping over gates, and the presence of the inevitable clown, she
would have to wear short skirts.
"They won't suit me," she said. "You see how long and thin I am, and
look at my long feet. I shall look a burlesque."
The Manager glared at her.
"I quite believe you will," he snapped. "I suppose you think you're
going to do the leaping act in a court train and feathers! Is there
anything more you would like to suggest?"
The intended sarcasm was not a success. Arithelli considered gravely.
"I don't think so, thank you," she said at last. "But if I do think of
anything else I'll tell you. And I should like to see the horses."
She was filled with a genuine delight by the four cream-coloured
pure-bred Andalusians, El Rey, Don Quixote, Cavaliero and Don Juan.
They turned intelligent eyes upon her as she entered their stalls,
neighing gently as if they recognised a friend. Both the men
experienced the same feeling of surprise at her evident knowledge and
understanding of animals. In five minutes she had shown that she knew
as much about their harness and food as a competent groom.
The astute Manager, upon whom no sign of intelligence was wasted,
saw a good opportunity for getting a little extra work out of his
youthful leading lady. He informed her that she must be down at the
stables every morning at eight o'clock to inspect the horses and see
them fed and watered. As a matter of fact the inspection should have
been one of his own duties, but the girl was not likely to cavil at any

little additional work that had not been exactly specified in her contract.
Besides, if she did, he could soon make it uncomfortable for her.
Arithelli made no objection. Though she hated getting up early she
would never have grudged a sacrifice of comfort made on behalf of any
animal. When all the business was completed, Emile took her to the
Café Colomb for lunch.
Before they left he knew the details of her history.
The big house in Ireland, with its stud of horses and unlimited
hospitality, and the rapidly vanishing fortune. Her mother, a Viennese
by birth, a cosmopolitan by travel and education, a fine horsewoman,
and extravagance incarnate. Her father, good-natured, careless, manly,
as sportsmanlike and unbusinesslike as most Irishmen. When his horses
died he bought more, keeping always open house for a colony of men
as shiftless and as easy-going as himself.
As the children grew up the money became less and less. They were
sent to Convent schools in France and Belgium, then to cheap schools
in England.
At length the final crash came, and the big, picturesque, rambling house
in Galway was sold, and they came to London with an infinitesimal
income partly derived from the grudging charity of relatives.
Arithelli cleaned the doorsteps and the kitchen stove, blackleaded the
grates and prepared the meals, which more often than not consisted
only of potatoes and tea.
Their mother, who hated all domestic work, and could never be induced
to see that their loss of money was due to her own extravagance, retired
to bed, where she spent her days in reading Plato in the original, and
writing charming French lyrics.
When Arithelli ran away she had gone straight to an old friend of her
mother's, the widow of an ambassador in Paris. She had made up her
mind to earn her own living. She would carve out for herself a career.
Having decided that riding was her most saleable accomplishment, she

had gone round to the riding school where the managers of the
Hippodromes of Vienna, Buda-Pesth and Barcelona waited to select
equestriennes.
Luck, youthful confidence, and her tragic, unyouthful beauty, had all
ranged themselves together to procure her the much desired
engagement.
"I made up my mind to get taken on," she concluded. "Et me voilà! I
did all sorts of desperate jumps that day. I felt desperate. If I hadn't got
it, there was only the Morgue. I couldn't have gone home."
Emile listened in silence, and drank absinthe and considered.
That night at a meeting of the Brotherhood he took the leader,
Sobrenski, aside and said:
"It was decided the other day that we wanted someone to take messages
and run errands. Someone who could go unnoticed into places where it
would be suspicious for us to be seen. You suggested a boy. Fate has
been so kind as to show me a woman who seems to be in every way
suitable--or at least with a little training she will become so."