The Rose in the Ring

G >> George Barr McCutcheon >> The Rose in the Ring

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Colonel Grand had just entered the dressing-tent with Christine's
father, and was paying his most suave devotions to Mrs. Braddock
across the way.

"When did he come?" asked David, filled with a sharp pity for the
girl, who, as yet, could hardly have suspected the real object of his
visits.

"An hour ago. David, why does he come so often?"

"I--I suppose he has business in these towns," he floundered
uncomfortably.

"My mother hates him,--oh, how she hates him. I don't see why he can't
see it and stay away from us. Of course, he's very rich, and he's a--a
great friend of father's. They say Colonel Grand gambles and--and he
leaves his wife alone at home for weeks at a time. I can't bear the
sight of his face. It is like an animal's to me. Have you seen that
African gazelle out in the animal top? The one with the eyes so close
together and the long white nose? Well, that's how Colonel Grand looks
to me. I've always hated that horrid deer, David. I see it in my
dreams, over and over again, and it is always trying to butt me in the
face with that awful white nose. Isn't it odd that I should dream of
it so much?"

"It's just a fancy, Christine. You'll--you'll outgrow it. All children
have funny dreams," he said with a lame attempt at humor.

"I'm fifteen, David," she said severely. "I don't like you to say such
things to me. But," and she beamed a smile upon him that fairly
dazzled, "I do love the way you pronounce my name. No one says it just
as you do. I hate being called Christie. Don't you ever begin calling
me Christie. Do you hear?"

"I've always loved Christine," he said frankly. Then he felt himself
blush under the paint.

She hesitated, suddenly shy. "I've never liked David until now," she
said. "I've always liked Absalom better. Reginald is my favorite
name,--or Ethelbert. Still, as you say, I will doubtless outgrow them.
Besides, you are not David. You are poor little Jack Snipe."

Her warm smile faded as she turned her eyes in the direction of
Colonel Grand. The troubled look came back to them at once; there was
a subtle spreading of her dainty nostrils.

"How I hate his smile," she said in very low tones.

Without looking at David again she passed through the curtains after
Tom Sacks and made her way to the ring, a jaunty figure that gave no
sign of the uneasiness that lurked beneath the joyous spangles.

David looked after her for a moment. He became suddenly conscious of
the fact that Colonel Grand was staring at him across the intervening
space. Turning, he met the combined gaze of the three persons who
formed the little group. There was a comprehensive leer on the face of
the Colonel.

In that instant there flashed through David's mind the conviction that
Colonel Bob Grand was to play an ugly and an important part in his
life. Again there came over him, as once before, the insensate desire
to strike that gray, puttyish face with all his might.

He had been kept out of the ring during the early part of the
performance, while Artful Dick and other cunning scouts were
satisfying themselves that the Pinkerton man actually had given up the
chase. As a matter of fact, the disgusted operative had been
completely fooled, and was well on his way to Philadelphia, cherishing
the prospect of a laugh at the expense of the superintendent who had
sent him on the wild-goose chase.

David kept a wary eye open for the danger signal, which, however, was
not to come. He saw the Braddocks and Colonel Grand leave the
dressing-tent and pass into the open air. This time Braddock walked
ahead with his unyielding wife. Apparently he was expostulating with
her. She looked neither to right nor left, but walked on with her face
set and her eyes narrowed as if in pain. Colonel Grand, the picture of
insolent assurance, sauntered behind them, a beatific smile on his
lips.

The Virginian was sitting on a property trunk, dejectedly staring at
the ground when Christine returned from the ring. Thunders of applause
had told him when the act was over; the change of tune by the band
announced the beginning of the next act--that of the strong man and
his wife. How well David remembered these sudden transitions. He
almost longed to be out there now, in the thick of it, with good old
Joey Grinaldi at his side, dodging the ringmaster's lash and grinning
at the jokes of the veteran.

The girl came straight up to him, her anxious gaze sweeping the
interior. She was about to speak to him, but changed her mind and
hurried on to her dressing-room. An instant later she was back,
greatly agitated. "Where is my mother?" she asked.

"They went away a few minutes ago," replied David, as unconcernedly as
possible.

"Where? Where did they go, David?" she cried, her voice low with
alarm.

"To the side-show, I think," prevaricated he.

He saw the look of relief struggling into her face.

"She--she always cries when she goes out with them together," she
murmured piteously. "Oh, David, I'm so worried. I don't know why--I
don't know what it is that causes me to feel this way. But I am
frightened--always frightened."

He took her little hand between his own; it was trembling perceptibly.
Very gently he sought to reassure her, his heart so full that his
voice was husky with the emotion that crowded up from it.

"Nothing ever can happen to your mother, Christine--nothing. Please
don't worry, little girl. Colonel Grand can't--won't do anything to
hurt her. Your father won't let that happen. He won't--"

"David, I am not so sure of that," she said slowly, looking straight
into his eyes and speaking almost in a monotone. He started. For a
moment he was speechless.

"You must not say that, Christine," he said.

"I don't know why I said it," she responded, nervously biting her
nether lip. Then she smiled, her white teeth gleaming against the
carmine. "She'll be back presently, I know. I'm so silly."

"You are very young, you'll have to admit, after this display," he
chided. She left him.

Joey Grinaldi came in a few minutes later and took his _protege_
off to the ring, with the assurance that "the coast" was clear. All
the rest of the afternoon David's heart ached with a dull pain. He
could hardly wait for the time to come when he could return to the
dressing-tent. At last, he raced from the ring, pursued by the
inflated bladder in the hand of Joey Grinaldi, their joint mummery
over for the afternoon.

Christine was sitting on the trunk that he had occupied so recently;
Mrs. Braddock was nowhere in sight.

"David," she said slowly, as he drew up panting, "they did not go to
the side-show."

He was spared the necessity of an answer by the providential return of
the girl's mother. She came in alone from the main tent. A glance
showed them both that she had been crying. Christine sprang forward
with a little cry and slipped her arm through her mother's.

As they passed by David the mother's stiff, tense lips were moving
painfully. He heard her say, as if to herself:

"I cannot--I will not endure it any longer. I cannot, my child."

David stood before her the next instant, his face writhing with fury,
his hands clenched.

"Is--is there anything I can do, Mrs. Braddock? Tell me! Can I do
anything for you?" he cried.

She stared for a moment, as if bewildered. Then her face lightened.
The tears sprang afresh to her eyes.

"No, David," she said gently. "There is nothing you can do."

"But if there should be anything I can do--" he went on imploringly.
She shook her head and smiled.

As soon as he could change his clothes David hurried out to the
menagerie tent. For many minutes he stood before the cage containing
the African gazelle, fascinated by the nose and eyes of the lachrymose
beast. He stared for a long time before becoming aware that the animal
was looking at him just as intently from the other side of the bars.
It was as if the creature with the broad white muzzle and limpid eyes
was studying him with all the intentness of a human being. An uncanny
feeling took possession of the boy. He laughed nervously, half
expecting the solemn starer to smile in return--with the smile of
Colonel Grand. But the deer's eyes did not blink or waver, nor was
there the slightest deviation of its melancholy gaze.

A voice from behind addressed the lone spectator.

"Attractive brute, isn't he?"

David turned. Colonel Grand was standing a few feet away, gazing with
no little interest at the occupant of the cage.

Young Jenison did not reply at once. He was momentarily occupied in a
mental comparison of the two faces.

"It is our latest curiosity from the wilds of Africa," he said, his
eyes hardening. A Jenison could not look with complacency on a man
who, first of all, had fought against his own people, even though one
Jenison had been a traitor to the cause.

"The only one in captivity," quoted the Colonel. He had the smooth,
dry voice of a practiced man of the world.

"That's what they say on the bills, sir." He was walking away when the
other, with some acerbity, called to him.

"What's your name?"

"Snipe, sir," said David, after a second's hesitation.

"I've seen you back there in the dressing-tent. You don't look like a
circus performer."

"I am a clown," observed David coolly.

Colonel Grand came up beside him. They strolled past several cages
before either spoke again.

"You are new at the business," remarked the older man. David felt that
the Colonel was looking at him, notwithstanding the fact that they
seemed to be engaged in a close inspection of the cages.

"I am a beginner. Joey Grinaldi is training me."

Thomas Braddock was watching them from beyond the camel pen.

"It may interest you to know that I am accustomed to civility in all
people employed by this show," said Colonel Grand levelly.

"Do you always get what you expect?" asked David, stopping short.

The Colonel faced him.

"Young man," said he, after a deliberate pause, "let me add to my
original remark, I _always_ get what I expect."

"Then I suppose you expect me to sever my connection with this show,"
said David, looking straight into his eyes.

The Colonel smiled. "Your real name is Jenison, isn't it?"

"Yes," said David defiantly. The Colonel was startled. He had not
expected this, at any rate.

"And you are wanted for murder, I understand."

"Yes."

"By George, you take it coolly," exclaimed the other, not without a
trace of admiration in his voice.

"Why should I equivocate?" demanded David coldly. "You are in
possession of all the facts. What do you intend to do about it?"

The Colonel's eyes narrowed. There was not the slightest trace of
anger in his manner, however.

"I intend to have your wages increased," he said quietly.

David could not conceal his surprise, nor could he suppress the gleam
of relief that leaped to his eyes.

"I don't understand," he muttered.

"I expect you to remain with this show until the end of the season,"
said the Colonel grimly.

David pondered this remark for a moment.

"I may not care to stay so long as that--" he began, puzzled by the
Colonel's attitude toward him.

"But you _will_ stay," said the other, fastening his gaze on David's
chin--doubtless in the hope of seeing it quiver. "If you attempt to
leave this show, I will--Well, a word to the wise, young man."

"You don't own this show!" flared David. "And you can't bully me!"

Not a muscle moved in the face of the tall Colonel. In slow, even
tones he remarked: "I am not cowardly enough to bully a wretch whom I
can hang."

In spite of himself, David shrank from this cold-blooded rejoinder.

"See here, Jenison," went on Colonel Grand, noting the effect of his
words, "I have a certain amount of respect for your feelings, because
you are a Southerner, as I am. You have pride and you have courage.
You are a gentleman. You are the only gentleman at present engaged in
this profession, I'll say that for you. There is a probability that
you may not be so unique in the course of a week or two. I am already
a part owner of this concern. You know that, of course. It is pretty
generally known among the performers that I have a creditor's lien on
the business. I wish you would oblige me by announcing to your friends
that I have taken over a third interest in the show in lieu of certain
notes and mortgages. From to-day I am to be recognized as one of the
proprietors of Van Slye's Circus. Do you grasp it?"

David, a great lump in his throat, merely nodded.

"Considerable of my time henceforth will be spent with the show. I
intend to elevate you to better associations. You are of my own class.
I'm going to give you the society that you, as a Jenison of the
Virginia Jenisons, deserve. It won't be necessary for you to mingle
with pickpockets and roustabouts and common ring performers. There
will be a select little coterie. I fancy you can guess who will
comprise our little circle--our set, as you might call it. There are
better times ahead for you, Jenison. Your days of riding in a tableau
wagon are over. I shall expect you to join our exclusive little
circle--where may be found representatives of the best families in the
South and North. Portman, Jenison and Grand. Splendid names, my boy.
Ah, I see Mr. Braddock over there. We are dining this evening at the
best restaurant in town. Will you join us? Good! I shall expect you at
six."

He had not removed his eyes from the paling face of his auditor at any
time during this extraordinary speech. He saw surprise, dismay,
perplexity and indignation flit across that face, and in the end
something akin to stupefaction. Without waiting for David's response
to the invitation--which was a command--he smiled blandly and walked
away in the direction of the camel pen.

For a full minute Jenison stood there, staring after him, his heart as
cold as ice, his arms hanging nerveless at his sides. The real,
underlying motive of the man was slow in forcing itself into his
brain.

He was to be used! He was to be made a part of the ugly web Colonel
Grand was weaving about the unhappy Braddocks!

All the innate chivalry in the boy's nature sprang up in rebellion
against this calm devilry. A blind rage assailed his senses. For the
moment there was real murder in his heart; his vision was red and
unsteady; his whole body shook with the tumult of blood that surged to
his brain. Impelled by an irresistible force, his legs carried him ten
paces or more toward the object of his loathing before his better
judgment revived sufficiently to put a check on the mad impulse.
Instead of rushing on to certain disaster, he conquered the desire to
strike for his own pride and for the honor of the woman in the case;
he had the good sense to see that he could gain no lasting
satisfaction by physical assault upon the man nor could he expect to
help matters by reproaching Thomas Braddock for the miserable part he
was playing in the affair.

Covered with shame and anger, he abruptly hurried away from the scene
of temptation, making his way to the dressing-tent, where he hoped to
find Joey Grinaldi.

The clown met him at the entrance to the main tent. It was apparent
that he had been waiting there for his _protege_.

"Joey!" cried David, all the bitterness in his soul leaping to his
lips, "do you know what has happened?"

Joey's quaint old visage was never so solemn. His pipe was out; it
hung rather limply in his mouth.

"Mrs. Braddock 'as told me," he said. "They 'ad to do it. They owed
'im nearly seventeen thousand dollars."

"What is to become of her--and Christine?" cried the boy, his face
working.

"The good God may take care of 'em," returned the clown slowly. He
puffed hard at his cold pipe. "I'm not surprised at wot's 'appened,
Jacky. It's part of 'is game. Some day afore long he'll kick Braddock
out of the business altogether. That's the next step. She can't do
anything, either. All she's got in the world is in this 'ere show. If
--if she'd only go back home to her father! But, dang it, she swears
she won't do that. She'll work in the streets first."

"She can have all I've got," announced David eagerly.

"She ain't the kind to give up this 'ere property without a fight,
Jacky. They'll 'ave to make it absolutely impossible for her to stay
afore she'll knuckle to 'em. She's got pluck, Mary Braddock 'as. I
know positive she 'as more 'n twenty thousand in this show. She put
most of it in a couple of years ago when Brad swung over the deal with
Van Slye. Since then she's put the rest in to save the shebang. I say,
Jacky, I observed you a-talking to _him_. Wot is he going to do with
you? Give you the bounce?"

"No," said David, clenching his hands. Then he repeated all that had
taken place in the menagerie tent.

"I will not sit at table with that beast," he exclaimed in conclusion.

Joey led him off to a less conspicuous part of the tent. He appeared
to be turning something over in his mind as they walked along.

"Jacky, I know it goes 'ard with a gentleman like you to sit down with
a rascal like 'im, but I fancy you'll 'ave to lump your pride and do
wot he arsks."

"I'm--I'm hanged if I do!" cried the other.

"Well, now, just look at it from another point," said Joey earnestly.
"You can't afford to oppose 'im right now. Besides, there's others as
needs you. There's got to be some one in the party to look out for
Mrs. Braddock and Christine. Brad won't, so you're the one. Stick to
'em, Jacky, and if needs be, the whole show will back you up. You just
go to supper with 'em."

"You're right, Joey," said David, his face flushing. "They stood by
me, I'll stand by them."

"The restaurant is down the main street near the 'otel," explained the
old clown. "Ruby and me will walk down with you. And, by the way, I've
been talking with Dick Cronk about you. He arsked me to tell you to be
mighty careful of that wad o' money." Joey winked his left eye. "He's
a terrible honest sort of chap, Dick is, so I told 'im you'd put it in
a bank. Which relieved 'im tremendous. He's took a fancy to you, and
he says he's working on a scheme to get you out of all your troubles
at 'ome."

"Oh, if there is only a way to do it!" cried David fervently. "If I
could go back to dear old Jenison Hall, Joey! I could give them a
home--for all their lives. I would do it. And you could come there,
Joey--you and Ruby. Oh, you don't know how I long to be there. My old
home! I--I--"

"Don't get excited now, laddie," warned old Joey. He spent a minute in
calculation. "That there Dick Cronk is a mighty cute chap. You never
can tell wot he's got in that noddle of 'is. No, sir, you never can
tell."

CHAPTER IX

A THIEF IN THE NIGHT

That supper was one of the incidents in David Jenison's life always to
stand out clear and undimmed. The party of five sat at a table in a
remote corner of the dingy little eating-house. At no time were they
free from the curious gaze of the people who filled the place, a noisy
bumptious crowd of country people making the most of a holiday. The
glamour was over them. Some one had recognized "Little Starbright" in
the simply clad, demure young girl; the word was passed from table to
table. She was stared at and whispered about from the time she entered
the place until she left.

David, alert and dogged, soon forgot the boorishness of the country-
folk, however, in the painful study of conditions near at hand.
Colonel Grand, the host, was most affable. More than that, he was
tactful. While there was an unmistakable air of proprietorship in his
manner, he had the delicacy or the cleverness not to allow it to
become even remotely oppressive. He managed it so that the
conversation was carried on almost entirely by the two men. Now and
then the three palpably unwilling guests were drawn into it, but with
such subtlety on the part of their host that they were surprised into
a momentarily active participation. Thomas Braddock, cleanly shaven
and rather uncomfortably neat as to the matter of linen, was garrulous
to the point of noisiness. He confined his remarks to the Colonel, or,
in a general way, to the tables near by, with an occasional furtive
glance at his wife's set, unsmiling face by way of noting the effect
on her. The topics were commonplace enough: the weather, the prospects
ahead, the improvements to be made in the show as business got better.

Mrs. Braddock, who sat at the Colonel's left, was so noticeably pale
and repressed that David wondered if she would be able to go to the
end of the wretched travesty without fainting. Unutterable despair
hung over her lowered eyelids; it stood out plainly in the lines at
the corners of her mouth. Christine seldom looked up from her plate.
She sat next to David. He felt the restraint and embarrassment under
which the girl suffered. Her cheek went red on more than one occasion
when her father's coarse humor offended her delicate sensibilities;
she paled under the veiled, insinuating compliments of the other. Once
David's hand accidentally touched hers, below the edge of the table.
His strong fingers at once closed over hers and for many minutes he
held them tight, unknown to any but themselves. The dark lashes
drooped lower on her cheeks; he could almost detect the flutter in her
throat.

The ghastly meal drew to a close. The Colonel, leaning forward, was
gazing through half-closed lids at the profile of the woman beside
him. His long, white fingers fumbled with an unused spoon beside her
plate. Once she had hitched her chair a little farther away from his,
--an abrupt proceeding that had not failed to attract David's
attention.

"Well, we will have many of these jolly little spreads," he was saying
in his oiliest tones. "Birds of a feather, you know. Ha, ha! That's
rather a clever way of putting it, eh, Jack?"

Braddock laughed boisterously. He had lighted a cigar regardless of
the waiter's polite announcement that smoking was not allowed.

"Yes, we will dine together frequently. I like these gay little
affairs," went on the Colonel, not even attempting to conceal his
shrug of disgust for Braddock. "I am leaving for home to-night, but I
expect to return in two or three days. You must all join hands in
breaking me into the circus business. Don't let me be a--what is it
you call it? A rube, that's it. We'll be the show's happy family.
Every circus has a 'happy family.' Yes, 'pon my soul, I like the life.
I _do_ enjoy these quiet, impromptu little suppers."'

David was suddenly conscious that Braddock's eyes were upon him. He
met the gaze, curiously impelled. The man's face was almost purple;
the look in his eyes was not of anger, but of a shame that sprung from
what little there was of manhood left in him. Braddock looked away
quickly, and an instant later announced that it was time to get back
to the "lot."

In front of the restaurant they came upon Artful Dick Cronk. The
pickpocket made no attempt to speak to them, but when his eye caught
David's, he closed it slowly in a very expressive wink.

Braddock hurried on ahead, explaining that he was obliged to look
after something at the grounds.

"I'll look after them," said the Colonel affably. "With Jack's
assistance," he supplemented. Christine clutched her mother's arm. The
Colonel and David dropped behind, for the narrow sidewalk was crowded.
In this fashion they made their way to the show grounds. Mrs. Braddock
and Christine did not once look behind. Colonel Grand chatted amiably
with his young companion, but never for an instant was his gaze
diverted from the straight, proud figure of the woman ahead.

He entered the dressing-tent with them. There he quietly said good-by
to the three of them. The tears of indignation were still standing in
Christine's eyes. He willfully misinterpreted their significance. A
hateful tenderness came into his voice, but it did not disturb the
sneer on his lips.

"Don't cry, little one; it is only for a few days," he said.

Christine's face flamed.

"It's--it's not because you are going away!" she cried in angry
astonishment. "I wish you would never come back! Never!"

He smiled broadly. "Dear me! And I thought we were getting on so
nicely. Pray control yourself, my dear. I had no idea you could be so
ferocious. Who does she get it from, Mary?"

Mrs. Braddock started as if stung. Her eyes dilated. It was the first
time he had called her by her Christian name.

"How dare you?" she cried, her breast heaving with suppressed anger.

He shook his head dejectedly. "I have much to learn, it seems."

She opened her lips to say more, but reconsidered, and abruptly turned
away, drawing Christine after her into the women's section.

Colonel Grand turned to David. "Young man," he said sharply, "I don't
like the way you look at me. Stop! Not a word, sir! I have taken up
the show business seriously. I find that our animal tamers are
entirely competent. What we need here is a tamer for vicious and
ungentle bipeds. There is a way to tame them, just as there is a way
to break the spirit of the lion or the tiger. It shall be my special
duty to deal with these unruly human beings. I hope you grasp my
meaning. It would not be to my liking to begin my experiments on a
young gentleman of Virginia."

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