They were
drawing stakes with the old-fashioned chains. For a while he dully
watched them. They passed on. He crept from his place of hiding and,
attracted by the lights as a moth is drawn by the candle, made his way
to the sheltered spot at the joining of the tents.
After a few moments of restless vigil an overpowering sense of
lassitude fell upon him. His eyes closed in abrupt surrender to
exhaustion. The rhythmic beat of the quickstep leaped off into great
distances; the champing and snorting of horses in the dressing-tent
died away as if by magic; the subdued voices of the men and women who
waited their turn to bound into the merry ring faded into
indistinguishable whispers; the crack of the ring master's whip and
the responsive yelp of the clown trailed off into silence. His head
fell back, his body relaxed, and he slipped off into sweet
unconsciousness.
A man in motley garb, with a face of scarlet and white, sitting on a
blue half-barrel near the flap which indicated the entrance to the
men's section of the dressing-tent, caught sight of an arm and hand
lying limp under the edge of the canvas.
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