It's 'cause I'm leavin' her with
you that I'm sayin' all this," the old man apologised.
"I'm glad you told me, Toby," Douglas answered, kindly. "I've
never known much about circus folks."
"I guess I'd better be goin'," Toby faltered, as his eyes roved
hungrily toward the stairway.
"I'll send you our route, and mebbe you'll be lettin' us know how
she is."
"Indeed I will," Douglas assured him, heartily.
"You might tell her we'll write ever' day or so," he added.
"I'll tell her," Douglas promised earnestly.
"Good night!" The old man hesitated, unwilling to go, but unable
to find further pretext for staying.
"Good night, Toby." Douglas extended his hand toward the bent
figure that was about to shuffle past him. The withered hand of
the white-faced clown rested in the strong grasp of the pastor,
and his pale, little eyes sought the face of the stalwart man
before him; a numb desolation was growing in his heart; the
object for which he had gone on day by day was being left behind
and he must stumble forth into the night alone.
"It's hard to leave her," he mumbled; "but the show has got to go
on."
The door shut out the bent, old figure. Douglas stood for some
time where Toby had left him, still thinking of his prophetic
words.
Pages:
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53