But she saw that a group of
performers were staring at them in plain curiosity. She closed her
lips in bitter determination, and walked off at his side. Close behind
came her daughter and the young Virginian.
Joey Grinaldi addressed himself to the little knot of strollers.
"I never did see such a look as she gave 'im," said he. "My eye! It
was a stinger. Take my word for it, she's going to take the bit in 'er
mouth afore you know it, and show that hyena wot she's made of."
"Hyena, dad?" scoffed his daughter. "He's not even that. He's a rep-
_tile_."
"Well, he brought the sunshine," said one of the women half-heartedly.
"But it's still muddy," retorted Joey with dogged pessimism. They
trooped off after him, each one lighter hearted in spite of a dull
reluctance, simply because Colonel Grand had brought not only the
sunshine but a life-saving opulence.
Thomas Braddock, muddy, unkempt and sour, had managed to sleep off
some of the effects of the liquor he had poured into himself the night
before. True to his word, he had traveled by wagon. The treasurer of
the circus had seen to it that he was tossed like a bundle of rags
into the ticket wagon, there to roll and jostle from wall to wall over
twenty miles of oblivion.
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