Grinaldi, the clown, caught him in his arms as he slipped forward in a
dead faint.
CHAPTER II
IN THE DRESSING-TENT
When he regained consciousness, he was lying on a thick, dusty
mattress, his head pillowed on a bundle of cloth that smelled of
cotton and dyestuffs. Faces emerged from the gloom around him. Some
one was holding a torch over his strange couch. That odd face in
bismuth and lampblack was bending over him.
"He's come 'round, Mrs. Braddock," he heard this creature say, in a
far-off voice. "Only a faint, nothing more. Poor lad, he looks ill and
hungry."
Then other figures, all gaudy and bright and glittering, crowded into
his vision. He tried to raise himself to his elbow, a fierce wave of
embarrassment rushing over him. Some one supported him from behind. As
he came to a sitting position, he turned his head to thank this
person. It was with difficulty that he repressed a cry of alarm. The
being who braced him with friendly arms was a glittering, shiny thing
of green, with a human face that leered upon him.
Observing the youth's bewilderment and uncertainty, Grinaldi laughed.
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