The Rose in the Ring

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

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But this man was apparently in the best of health. He was spare, and
his sloping shoulders did not suggest breadth or strength; yet there
was that about him which made for force and virility. His hands were
long and slim and very white. A huge diamond glittered on one of the
fingers of the left hand; another quite as large adorned the bosom of
his shirt. It required no clever mind to see that he was not an out-
of-doors man. One would say, guessing, that he was thirty six or eight
years of age. As a matter of fact, he was fifty-five.

David noticed that he never allowed his gaze to leave the face of Mary
Braddock, except to occasionally traverse her figure from crown to
foot. The boy's dislike grew to actual resentment. He experienced a
fierce desire to rush out and strike the man across the eyes.

He could not hear what they were talking about. Broddock, tipsy as
usual, was urging something on her in low, insistent tones. His manner
was that of one who espouses a forlorn hope; he argued with the
insinuating, doubting earnestness so characteristic of the man who
knows that he is operating against his own best interests in the face
of one who fully understands the weakness that impels him. Mrs.
Braddock stood before him, cold, passive, unconvinced. Her greeting
for the newcomer had been most unfriendly. She deliberately turned her
back on him, after the first short "good afternoon." As for the
stranger, he did not take part in the conversation. He stood close to
her elbow, the trace of a smile on his lips.

Suddenly her tense body relaxed. Her chin dropped forward and she
nodded her head dejectedly. Braddock's next remark, uttered with
considerable gusto, came to David's ears.

"Good!" he said, biting his cigar with approving energy. "We can talk
it over there. I think you will see it my way, Mary. You'll see if I'm
not right! Come on, Bob. This is no place to talk."

She preceded them without another word, an air of utter weariness
characterizing her movements. The stranger smiled his bland, hateful
smile. When Braddock, in genial relief, essayed to take his arm, the
tall man coldly withdrew himself from the contact, displaying a far
from mild aversion to the advances of the tipsy showman. Braddock
dropped back, like a cowed dog, permitting the other to pass through
the sidewall ahead of him, a step or two behind the unhappy Mary
Braddock on whose back his steady gaze was leveled with unswerving
intentness.

David hurried to a rent in the canvas and peered out into the sunlight
of the waning day. The stranger had come up beside Mrs. Braddock,
talking to her as they crossed the lot in the direction of the street.
She apparently paid no heed to his remarks. Braddock made no effort to
keep up with them, but loafed behind, simulating interest in the most
conveniently propinquitous of his possessions, with now and then a
furtive glance at the couple a half-dozen paces ahead.

David was sorely puzzled and distressed. He knew that something was
going cruelly wrong with his friend and supporter, but what it was he
could not even venture a guess, knowing so little about the people and
conditions attached to his new world.

"So, he's 'ere again, is he?"

He whirled quickly to find Grinaldi peering over his shoulder, his
erstwhile merry face as black as a thunder cloud.

"Who is he?" demanded David.

The clown did not answer at once. His eyes were glittering. It was not
until the trio passed from view beyond a "snack-stand" that he sighed
mightily and jammed his hands into his coat pockets, still clenched.
Even then, he stared long at David before replying.

"That man?" he said harshly. "That's Colonel Bob Grand."

"What has he got to do with the show, Mr. Noakes?"

"Call me Joey. Everybody does, my lad." He looked around cautiously.
No one was near them. Nevertheless, he lowered his voice. "That's just
wot all of us would like to know ourselves, Jacky. He's a race-horse
man and a gambler. Oh, don't you get it into your 'ead that he follows
the show in _them_ capacities. Not he. He's too big a guy for that. No,
sirree. He pinches the dollars by the thousands, that chap does. No
ten-dollar rube games for 'im. But I'll tell you all about 'im at
supper. There's Ruby waiting for us at the door. I'm 'aving supper
brought over 'ere for us three and Casey. He's a nice chap, Casey is.
Brad says you are not to go to the cook-top until we're out of the
woods." Before starting off to join his daughter, Grinaldi looked again
through the hole in the canvas, muttering a dejected oath.

Ruby Noakes, very pretty and quite demure in a simple frock of brown,
without the prevailing bustle and paniers, was directing the
contortionist in his efforts to construct a table out of three "blue
seats" and a couple of property trunks, or "keesters," as they were
called.

"I insist on having a table that I can put my legs under," she said
when he argued that the trunks alone would make an "elegant" table.
"We can sit on the boxes. Here, dad, you and Jack get the boxes up.
The boys will be here with supper in a minute or two. Oh, I say, isn't
it going to be fun? Just like a supper party in Delmonico's--only I've
never been to one there. Goodness, how I'd love to eat at
Delmonico's!"

"You wouldn't like it a bit, Ruby," announced Casey. "You got to
understand French to eat what they have there. If you can't understand
French, you're sure to eat something that won't agree with you, not
bein' able to tell soup from pickled pigs' feet."

"How do you know? You've never been there."

Casey gave her a cool stare. "I haven't, eh? My dear, I'd have you to
know that I've et there a hundred times."

Her eyes popped wide open.

"Of course," he explained, "I allus had to wake up and find I'd been
dreamin'. But, by ginger, them was great dreams. I allus had 'em after
my wife's cousin had been up to our shack of a Sunday to get a good
square meal. He was a waiter at Delmonico's. He was allus tellin' what
gorgeous things he had to eat at Del's, and then, blow me, I'd dream
about 'em the livelong night."

Presently the food came in from the cook-tent. The four sat down,
David beside the girl, who generously took him in hand at this unusual
banquet. In the menagerie tent beyond wild beasts were growling and
roaring and snarling a weird interlude for the benefit of the
banqueters, sounds so strange and menacing that David looked often
with uneasy interest in the direction from which they came.

"I like this, don't you, dad? I wish we could have a runaway boy with
us every night or so." She gave David a warm, enveloping smile.

But Joey was not listening to the idle chatter of his daughter. He ate
in silence, his brow corrugated with the intensity of his thoughts.

"Say, Casey, 'ave you seen 'im?" he asked at last, interrupting a tale
that Ruby was telling for David's especial benefit.

"I like that!" she exclaimed indignantly.

"Seen who?" from Casey, also ignoring her.

"Grand."

"Is that skunk here again?"

"Big as life, dang 'is bloody 'eart. He's bothering 'er, too. Makes
love to 'er right afore 'er 'us-band's eyes. It's--it's _out-rage-
ious_"

Miss Noakes forgot her story and her resentment. She leaned forward,
her black eyes fairly snapping, her fingers clenched. David recalled
the muscular bare arms he had seen during the trapeze act, and
wondered how so slight a person as she now seemed to be could be so
powerfully developed.

"I _knew_ something awful was going to happen," she said. "I saw a
cross-eyed man in the blues to-day. It never fails."

Circus people, from the beginning of history, have been superstitious.
Not one, but all of them, carry charms, amulets or lucky pieces, and
they recognize more signs than the sailors themselves.

"Some of these fine days I'm going to paste that guy on the nose,"
said the contortionist heatedly.

"You'll get a bullet in your gizzard if you do," said the clown
gloomily. "He carries a gun, and he'll use it, too. And if he didn't,
Tom Braddock would beat you to jelly for insulting 'is best friend."

"Do you mean that Mrs. Braddock is in love with that man?" demanded
David, his heart sinking.

The three of them glared at him--positively glared.

"Nobody said that, sir," said old Joey angrily. "She despises 'im. I
said as 'ow he was in love with 'er. There's a big difference in that,
my friend."

"I knew she wasn't that kind of a woman," cried David joyously.

"What do you know about women?" demanded Casey

"I'll tell you about 'im and 'er and all of them," said Joey, looking
about to see that they were quite alone in their corner. "You can tell
by looking at 'er, Jacky, that she ain't no common pusson. She's
quality, as you Virginians would say. And for that matter, so is
Colonel Grand, after a fashion. That is to say, he comes of a very
good old New Orleans family. He spoilt it all by being a colonel in
the Union army during the war. He wasn't for the North because he was
patriotic, but because he knowed the North would win and he saw 'is
chance to get rich. He's just a nateral-born gambler. Of course, he
ain't been back to New Orleans since the war. I understand 'is own
brothers intend to shoot 'im if he does go back. He went to Washington
to live, and he made a pile of money promoting carpet-bagging schemes
through the south. He's got a big gambling-house in Baltimore at
present, and an interest in one in New York, besides 'aving a string
o' race-horses.

"Well, Tom Braddock comes from Baltimore. His father was a hoss
trainer and trader there for a good many years afore he died--w'ich
was about two years ago. I've 'eard it said by them as knows, that he
sometimes traded hosses in the dead of night and forgot to leave one
in exchange for the one he took away. However that may be, he never
got caught at it and so died an honest man. It seems that he borrowed
one of Colonel Grand's riding hosses to go after a doctor one night,
some years ago, and didn't return it for nearly eighteen months. He
wouldn't 'ave returned it then if the Colonel 'adn't seen 'im riding
it in Van Slye's street parade out in a little Indiana town during
county fair week. I was with the show at the time, w'ich was afore old
Van Slye sold out to Tom Braddock. Well, Tom and Mrs. Braddock begged
so 'ard for the old scamp that the Colonel not only let 'im off but
took 'im back to Baltimore to train hosses for him. That was about
five seasons ago, and it was the first time any of us ever laid eyes
on the Colonel.

"Tom Braddock and 'is wife lived in Baltimore in the winter time,
where she kept little Christine in school from November to March. The
rest of the year she teaches 'er 'erself. I might say that Christine
is a specially well-edicated child and well brought up. You can see
that for yourself. Tom wanted 'er to learn 'ow to sing and dance so's
she could be earning money all winter, but 'er mother said nix to
that, very proper like. In course o' time, Tom's father worked it so's
Tom could practice 'is bareback acts at Colonel Grand's stables. He
was the best rider in the country at that time. The Colonel got 'im to
drinking and gambling. That was the beginning. The poor cuss 'adn't
been such a bad lot up to that time. Him and Mary had always got on
fairly well until he got to drinking. It wasn't long afore the Colonel
took a notion to Tom's wife. He 'as a wife of 'is own, but that didn't
stop 'im. He just went plumb crazy about Mary Braddock, who was the
purtiest, loveliest woman he'd ever seen--or any of us, for that
matter. I'll never forget how nice she's allus been to my gal 'ere,
and to every gal in the show, for that matter. She's an angel if there
ever was one. Don't interrupt, Casey. I've said it. You keep still,
too, Ruby--and don't sniffle like that, either.

"I won't go into the 'istory of 'ow the Colonel tried to get 'er away
from Tom. I daresay that's the very thing that makes 'er stick to Tom
so loyal-like in spite of wot he is now. Just principle, that's all.
Well, for more 'n two year the Colonel 'as been pestering 'er almost
to death, and she 'as to stand it because he's got such a terrible
'old on 'er 'usband. You see, the Colonel lent Tom a good bit of money
when he bought old Van Slye out season afore last. I will say this for
Tom, he paid 'im back dollar for dollar. We 'ad a good season and he
got the show cheap. Tom give up riding because he was tight all the
time, nearly killing Christine once or twice. Every once in awhile,
come so the Colonel would turn up and travel with the show for a week
or so, inducing Tom to play poker and drink. Tom allus lost and then
the Colonel'd stake 'im for a month or so to run the show on. This 'as
gone on for two years, Tom getting wuss all the time and the Colonel
more persistent. Tom 'as lost all sense of honor and decency. He knows
the Colonel is trying to get 'is wife away from 'im, and he ain't got
spunk enough left to object to it. He don't even try to protect 'er
from the old villain. They say Grand 'as promised 'er a fine 'ome in
Washington and will edicate Christine abroad, besides offering enough
diamonds to fill a 'at. But she just despises 'im more and more every
week. He'll never get 'er--no sirree! Why, she just _couldn't_ do
it! 'T ain't in 'er!

"Early this season he lent Tom five or six thousand, and Tom can't pay
it back, I know, business 'as been so bad. He's come on this time, I
daresay, to bulldoze 'em into 'is way of thinking. He's wonderful
persistent. Like as not he'll help Tom out some more afore he leaves,
just to draw the web closer. He'll stay a few days, 'anging around 'er
like a vulture, paying no attention to 'er rebukes, and then he'll go
off to return another day. He's wrecked Tom Braddock, just as a
stepping-stone. Some day he'll be through with Tom for good and all,
and you'll see what 'appens to Thomas."

Grinaldi's voice was hoarse with emotion; his brow was damp with
perspiration. Casey was the only one who ate; he ate sullenly.

"What beasts!" cried David, his fine nature in revolt.

"Brad 'as got to this point in 'is love for drink and cards," said
Joey. "He'll sacrifice anything for whiskey. He's got to have it.
We've all talked to 'im. No good. I--I don't like to say it, Dav--
Jacky, but he's slapped 'is wife more 'n once when she's tried to
plead with--"

David sprang to his feet, his face quivering with rage and horror.

"I'll kill him!" he cried shrilly. "If the rest of you are afraid to
stand up for her, I will show you how a Virginia gentleman acts in
such matters. I'll--"

"My boy," said Joey, very much gratified by his _protege's_ attitude.
"I like to hear you talk that way. But don't you go 'round gabbing
about killing people. A word to the wise, my lad. You see wot I mean?"

David turned perfectly livid and then sank back to his seat with a
groan of despair.

"You mean that my--that I've got a bad name already?"

"So far as the law is concerned, yes," said Joey gently. "You see, you
are David Jenison and--well, it's a fine old name, my 'eartie, but
these ain't very gallant days. It's too soon after the war, I take
it."

The boy looked from one to the other, his eyes dark with the pain of
understanding.

"But," he said bravely, "he must not be allowed to strike her. Why
doesn't she leave him? Why not get a divorce? No woman should live
with a man who strikes her. God doesn't intend that to be. He--"

"God put us all into the world and he'll take us all out of it," said
the clown, philosophizing. "That's about all we ought to expect 'im to
do. I don't think God 'as anything to do with matrimony. He says, 'you
takes your choice and you trusts to luck, not to me. If it turns out
all right,' says he, 'you can thank me, but if it goes wrong, don't
blame me.' So there you are. It strikes me that God don't intend a
good many things, but they 'appen just the same. As for 'er getting a
divorce, she's too proud. She made 'er bed, as the feller says, and
she's going to lie in it as long as there's room. She made 'er bed
sixteen years ago, she did, against 'er father's wishes, and she ain't
the kind to go back and say it's too 'ard for 'er to sleep in and
she'd like to come 'ome and sleep in one of 'is for a change. No
sirree, my lad."

"How did she come to marry such a beast as Braddock?"

"Well, that's another story. I 'ope, Casey, I'm not boring you."

"I wasn't gaping," said Casey testily. "I was coolin' my mouth. Try
that coffee yourself if you don't think it's hot."

"I wish she would leave him," said Ruby, more to herself than to the
others.

"She's got some of 'er own money in the show--all of it, I daresay.
Money 'er grandmother left 'er a couple of years ago. Brad promised
he'd buy 'er share in a year or two and let 'er put the money away for
Christine. But he'll never do it, not 'im. You see, Da--Jacky, it all
'appened this way. She was going to a young ladies' boarding-school up
in Connecticut w'en she fust saw Tom Braddock. Her father lived in New
York City and he was a very wealthy guy. She was 'is only child and
'er mother was dead. The old man, whose name was Portman,--Albert
Portman, the banker,--was considering a second venture into matrimony
at the time. Mary was eighteen and she didn't want a stepmother. She
raised such a row that he sent 'er off to school so as he could do 'is
courting in peace and plenty. She was a wayward gal,--leastwise she
says so 'erself--and very impetuous-like. One day a circus comes to
the town where she was attending school. The young ladies were took to
the afternoon performance by the--er--school-ma'ams. They all
perceeded to fall in love at first sight with a 'andsome young
equestrian. He was very good-looking, I can tell you that, and he 'ad
a fine figger. As clean a looking young chap as ever you see. Well do
I remember Tommy Braddock in them days. He was twenty-two and he rode
like a A-_rab_. Well, wot should 'appen but 'is hoss, a green
one, must bolt suddenlike, scairt by one of the balloons that 'it 'im
on the nose. Brad fell off as the brute leaped out of the ring,
terrified by the shouts of the ring-men. The hoss started right for
the seats where the school misses was setting. Up jumps Brad and sails
after 'im. The hoss got tangled in some ropes and stumbled, just as he
was about to leap into the place where Mary Portman sat. Brad grabs
'im by the bit and jerks 'im around, but in the plunging that
followed, the hoss fell over on 'im, breaking 'is leg--I mean Brad's.
Of course, there was a great stew about it. He was took to a 'ospital
and the papers was full of 'ow he saved the life of the rich Miss
Portman. Well, she used to go to see 'im a lot. When he got so's he
could 'obble around, she took 'im out driving and so on. He was a
fair-spoken chap in them days and he 'ad a good face. So she fell
desperit in love with 'im. He was an 'ero. She told 'er father she was
going to marry 'im. As the old gentleman was about to be married
'imself, he 'ated to share the prominence with 'er. So he said he'd
disown 'er if she even thought of marrying a low-down circus rider.
That was enough for Mary. She up and run off with Tom and got married
to 'im in a jiffy, beating 'er father to the altar by about two weeks.

"As soon as Tom was able to ride again, they joined the show. Her
father disowned 'er, as he said he would. He said he'd 'ave the butler
shut the door in 'er face if she ever come to the 'ouse. They went up
to ask for forgiveness, and the butler _did_ shut the door in 'er
face. So she turned 'er back on 'er father's 'ome and went to the
little one Tom made for 'er in Baltimore. She never even wrote to 'er
father after that, and she won't ever go back, no matter wot 'appens.
Not even if he sends for and forgives 'er, I believe. She's stood it
this long, she'll stick it out. Mr. Portman got married right enough
and I understand he's 'ad a 'ell of a time of it ever since. Married a
reg'lar tartar, thank God.

"Well, in a year Christine came. After a couple of years they went to
England and the Continent, where Brad rode for several seasons very
successful. When Christine was seven, he insisted that she should work
with 'im in the ring. He 'ad 'is way. They made a sensation with Van
Slye's show and stuck to 'im for six years straight, allus drawing
good pay. Mary went with them everywhere, never missing a performance,
allus scairt to death on account of the gal. I think nearly all of the
last five years of her life 'ave been spent in wishing that Tom would
fall off and break 'is own neck, but he couldn't do it very well
without breakin' the kid's, too, so she didn't know wot to do. Then he
got to drinking so 'ard that he did fall off, 'urting 'imself purty
bad. After that he give it up, buying a share in Van Slye's show, and
letting Christine do 'er work with Tom Sacks. Mrs. Braddock would give
anything she's got in the world if she could get Christine out of the
business and settled down in their own 'ome in Baltimore. Just to show
you wot drink does for Brad, he pays Christine a good salary every
week for riding and then insists on taking it back so's he can put it
in the savings bank for 'er. He spends every penny of it for drink and
he--"

"Sh!" came in a warning hiss from Ruby Noakes, whose quick, black eyes
had caught sight of a figure approaching from the big top. "Mrs.
Braddock is coming, dad. My, how white she is."

The proprietor's wife moved slowly, even listlessly. Something vital
had gone out of her face, it seemed to David, who knew her only as a
strong, courageous defender. A wan smile crept into her tired eyes as
she carne up to them and asked if she might sit down at their board.
The hand she laid caressingly on Ruby's shoulder shook as if with
ague.

"Jerk up a keester for Mrs. Braddock, Casey," cried old Joey with
alacrity. The contortionist found a small trunk and placed it between
Ruby Noakes and David. Mrs. Braddock thanked him and sat down.

"Have you had your supper, Mrs. Braddock?" asked Ruby.

"I am not hungry," said the other quietly. "A cup of coffee, though,
if you have enough for me without robbing yourselves. You work so
hard, you know, my dears, while I am utterly without an occupation. I
don't need much, do I?"

"You need a snifter of brandy," announced Joey conclusively. He went
off to get it.

Ruby rinsed her own tin-cup and poured out some hot coffee. Casey
called up a boy and sent off to the performer's cook top for a pitcher
of soup, some corned beef and potatoes, ignoring her protests.

"And how is the new clown faring?" she asked, turning to the silent
David with a smile.

"Very well, thank you," he replied. "I have been very hungry, you
know. I have never known food to taste so good."

"The hotels in these towns are atrocious. I can't eat the food," she
explained listlessly.

Joey handed her a drink from his flask. She swallowed it obediently
but with evident distaste. There was a long, somewhat painful silence.

"I think it's started to sprinkle again," ventured the contortionist,
looking at the top with uneasy eyes.

"Yes," she said appreciatively, "it means another wretched night for
us." She toyed with the tin-cup with nervous fingers for a moment and
then turned to the expectant Grinaldi. "We have been obliged to borrow
more money, Joey."

"So?" he said, nodding his head dumbly.

"Five thousand dollars. I--I signed the note with Tom. Oh, if we could
only have a spell of good weather!" It was an actual wail of despair.

"It's bound to come," said the clown. "It can't rain allus, Mrs.
Braddock."

Again there was silence. The three performers were absolutely dumb in
the presence of her unspoken misery.

"Would my money be of any service to you?" asked David at last,
timidly.

"You dear boy, no!" she cried warmly. "You do not understand. This is
our affair, David. You are very, very good, but--" She checked the
words resolutely. "We can lift the notes handily if the weather helps
us just a little bit."

"I don't like that man," announced the boy, his dark eyes gleaming.

The others coughed uncomfortably. Mrs. Braddock hesitated for a
second, and then laid her hand on his.

"He is a very bad man, David," was all that she said. He would have
blurted out an additional expression of hatred had she not lifted her
finger imperatively. "You must not say indiscreet things, my friend."
It was a warning and he understood.

"Come on, Jacky," put in Grinaldi hastily. "I've got to rehearse you a
bit. You've got to learn 'ow to tumble and you've got to--"

"Just a moment, Joey," said Mrs. Braddock nervously. "David, I can't
keep your money for you. Do you object to Mr. Noakes taking it for
awhile? Until we can get to a town where you can deposit it in a bank.
It isn't safe with me. I--"

"It _is_ safe with you," he cried eagerly.

"No! If anything were to happen to me you would never see it again."
He was struck by the increased pallor of her face. "It's quite safe
with Joey."

He waited a moment before replying. "I know that, Mrs. Braddock. You
may give it to him. But--but I want you to know that if _you_ ever need
any of it, or all of it--_for yourself or Christine_, you are more than
welcome to it."

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