"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.
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