There was mockery in everything. His humiliation
was complete when this motley array of people disdained to greet him
with the eager concern that heretofore had marked their demeanor. No
one appeared to notice him, further than to offer a curt nod or to
exchange sly grins with the others.
Christine was in the ring. Mrs. Braddock stood over by the tattered
red curtains, peering out into the "big top." He knew just where to
look for her; she always stood there while her daughter was performing
with old Tom Sacks. Not Tom Braddock, but all the others, noted the
weary droop of her shoulders.
She started violently when he came up from behind and spoke to her.
"Well, how does it look without the gentleman in stripes?" he asked
coarsely. "It ain't so refined, eh?"
She faced him, hesitated an instant, and then said, without a trace of
emotion in her voice:
"Tom, do you think Colonel Grand would be willing to buy out my share
in the show?"
He stared. Then he laughed sardonically.
"What are you givin' us? Buy out your share? I should say not. He
might buy you, but not your share."
"You are a beast, Tom Braddock," she said, the red mounting slowly to
her pale cheek.
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