Part 7 (1/2)

”Yes. I must find him. He--he doesn't want to be found. That's why it is going to be so hard. But I will find him!” His eyes were flas.h.i.+ng, his teeth were set.

”So much the better,” said Braddock. ”You can throw 'em off the track for awhile, then take your money and go to New York. You'll find him there, all right. They all go there.”

”He is a n.i.g.g.e.r,” said David.

”Umph!” grunted Braddock. ”That's bad. You mustn't expect any jury in Virginia to believe a n.i.g.g.e.r in these days.”

”Oh, yes, they will. They'll have to,” declared David firmly.

”Say,” said the proprietor, his voice sinking to tones of caution. He addressed the three of them. ”Better keep this quiet about the five hundred. It won't help any of us if it gets out that you've been bribing me, boy. I'll just say that I refused to take the wad. That will go, too. Don't let _anybody_ know. Understand, Mary?” He looked at her with lowering eyes.

”I will not tell Christine, Tom,” she said evenly, meeting the look with a gaze so steady that he bristled for a moment, but gave way before it. He felt the scorn and laughed shortly in his attempt to convince himself, at least, that he did not deserve it.

”And just to show you that I'm honest in this business,” he went on hurriedly, ”I'm going to begin by paying you the fifty I still owe on your salary, Joey. That's the kind of a man I am. I do what I say I'll do. Here's your fifty, Joey.”

”Not that kind of money for me, thank you,” said Grinaldi, with a scowl that brought his painted eyebrows together. He turned on his heel and hurried into the dressing-room, unable to restrain the words that would have cut the heart of the man's wife to shreds.

An attendant came in from the circus tent just as Christine Braddock emerged from the dressing-room alone. David was stuffing the purse inside the loose s.h.i.+rt that he wore. The girl hurried to her mother's side.

”Are they going to--to take him?” she whispered fearfully.

David saw the sweet, clean lips tremble. Her eyes were wide and dry with trouble. Somehow his heart swelled with a strange new emotion: he could not have ascribed it to joy, or to self-pity, or to grat.i.tude. It was something new and pleasant and warm; a glow, a light, an uplifting.

This sweet, wonderfully pretty girl was his friend! She believed in him.

”No, dear,” replied Mrs. Braddock, lowering her eyes in sudden humiliation.

The attendant was speaking. ”Mr. Braddock, that feller out at the door has got tired waitin'. He says he's comin' back yere to see you.

What'll I say to 'im? He's got a warrant an' he's got some of the town marshal's men with 'im now.”

”I'll go out and see him right away. The boy ain't with this show.”

With a slow, meaning look at his wife, he turned to follow the man.

Over his shoulder he called to David:

”Go in there with Joey. He'll tell you where to hide if you have to. Be quick about it.”

He was gone. The tumblers began to pour in from the main tent.

Christine clutched her mother's arm in the agony of desperation.

”Did--did he take the money from--_him_?” she demanded tremulously.

Mrs. Braddock looked at David, an abject appeal in her eyes. He smiled blandly and lied n.o.bly, like a true Virginia gentleman.

”No, Miss Braddock. Instead of that, he has hired me to go with the show.”

”Oh, I am so glad,” she cried. ”I knew he would not take your money.”

David swallowed hard; and then, fearing to speak again or to meet her radiant eyes, he hastened after Grinaldi.