"We'll make them SIT UP again. Barker says our act's
no good--that I've let down. But it's not YOUR fault, Bingo.
I've not been fair to you. I'll give you a chance to-morrow.
You wait. He'll never say it again, Bingo! Never again!" She
watched him go out of the lot, and laughed a little as he nipped
the attendant on the arm. He was still irritated at not going
into the ring.
Polly had nothing more to do to-night except to get into her
street clothes. The wagons would soon be moving away. For a
moment she glanced at the dark church steeple, then she turned to
go inside the tent. A deep, familiar voice stopped her.
"Polly!"
She turned quickly. She could not answer. Douglas came toward
her. He gazed at her in amazement. She drew her cape about her
slightly clad figure. She seemed older to him, more
unapproachable with her hair heaped high and sparkling with
jewels. Her bodice of satin and lace shimmered through the
opening of her cape. The moonlight lent mystery and indecision
to her betinselled attire. The band was playing the andante for
the balancing act.
She found strength at last to open her lips, but still no sound
came from them. She and the pastor looked at each other
strangely, like spirits newly met from far-apart worlds.
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