"Ain't this my dod-gasted luck?" he muttered to himself, as his
eye again travelled to the boss canvas-man. "You get out a'
here, Jim," he shouted, "an' start them wagons. The show's got
to go on, Poll or no Poll."
He turned with his hand on the door-knob and jerked out a
grudging thanks to the pastor. "It's all fired good of you to
take her in," he said, "but it's tough to lose her. Good night!"
He banged the door and clattered down the steps.
Jim waited. He was trying to find words in which to tell his
gratitude. None came; and he turned to go with a short
"good-bye!"
"Good night, Jim," said the pastor. He crossed the room and took
the big fellow's hand.
"Much obliged," Jim answered gruffly. It was his only polite
phrase, and he had taught Polly to say it. Douglas waited until
Jim had passed down the steps, then turned to Toby, who still
lingered near the table.
"You'll tell her how it was, me and Jim had to leave her without
sayin' 'good-bye,' won't you, sir?" Toby pleaded.
"Yes, indeed," Douglas promised.
"I'll jes' put this little bit o' money into her satchel." He
picked up the little brown bag that was to have been Polly's
birthday gift. "Me an' Jim will be sendin' her more soon."
"You're going to miss her, I'm afraid," Douglas said, feeling an
irresistible desire to gain the old man's confidence.
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