Too big! Say what's the
matter with you, Christine? Why, they're just beginning to talk about
what a fine shape--"
"Thomas Braddock!" exclaimed his wife furiously. The girl had dropped
down on one of the seats, burying her flushed face in her arms.
"Well, confound it," he mumbled, vaguely conscious of a shamed sense
of the old manhood. "I didn't mean to upset her like that. But, lookee
here, Mary, I don't want no more of this nonsense about her doing a
side-saddle menage act. She's a world beater at the other thing. I
won't listen to this guff. That ends it. You go on doing this work
with Tom Sacks, Christie. I don't give a rap whether the Jenison 'Joy'
likes it or not."
Christine sprang to her feet, her face convulsed.
"I shall ask Colonel Grand to help me. He owns part of the show. His
interest and mother's together are greater than yours--"
"Christine!" cried her mother, stunned.
His face went grayish white; the cigar hung loosely in his parted
lips, and a thin stream of saliva oozed from the opposite corner. He
tried to speak but could not. She unconsciously had struck a blow that
hurt to his innermost, neglected soul.
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