OCR Text |
Show By Courtney Ryley Cooper (WNU Service.) Copyright by Courtney Ryley Cooper CHAPTER VIII 19 The two had progressed well within the menagerie tent before any word was spoken between them. For Joe, there was nothing to say; he could only wait, while his heart beat with slow, ponderous throbs, so heavily that it seemed he could hear It. The mail beside him was half-turned and dragging drag-ging at something which he carried In a hip pocket. At last It came forth, a sheaf of papers, bound at the top with heavy clips. Joe knew the Import of that packet Immediately. It was the chief's file of his reward circulars. cir-culars. In dark, horrible, nightmare days, Joe had noticed such pieces of printing upon a table in the photographer's pho-tographer's room at 240 Center street ; he had hardly realized then that he had seen them. But now they stood forth as if he had been familiar with them always, the name, the alias, the descriptions of weight, height, scars, clothing, peculiarities, occupation and hangouts. The menagerie tent had suddenly become be-come deserted. Cage tenders, bull-men, bull-men, helpers, even the menagerie punks had moved away without ostentation, osten-tation, but with efficacy ; a true circus cir-cus man can spot a "clown cop" almost al-most as far as he can see him, and avoids him from instinct. Evidently the chief knew this, for once he had straightened the pad of reward sheets in his own hands, he held them before him, and pausing, rocked on heel and toe. "Now, Mr. Dayton says you're familiar fa-miliar with everybody around the show. You could recognize a fellow's face if you saw it oft paper, now couldn't you? Suppose people could look at a picture and then at the man and not be quite sure. Don't mind admitting ad-mitting I'm sort of that way myself. Point I'm getting at: could you look these here over and tell if any of 'em's with your show?" Joe Barry pulled hard at his breath. "I think so." . A faint smile came to the dry lips of the chief. "There's a reward on everybody, in there," he said. "I ain't the kind of a man that'd forget a favor." "I see." Joe felt the touch of the papers against his half-outstretched hand. Then vaguely he realized that he was turning the pages, staring down into the front and side views of men, men who were wanted for perjury, for robbery, for lustful crnes and for murder. One after another the pages were turned, slowly, deliberately; delib-erately; then of a sudden, Joe gave a mental jerk at the muscles of his hands to free them from their white tenseness. As he did so, he felt warm flesh against his cold flesh ; the chief had reached to the packet and flipped back the pages to the beginning. "No use looking at those last three or four," he said. "They're all New York gangsters; wouldn't catch one of them out of the Big City in a hundred hun-dred years." He took the circulars from Joe's weak grasp. "Well," he asked, "see anybody in there you recognized?" Joe Barry reached for a cigarette, and with his fingers upon the package, changed his mind. His hands might tremble. "I guess I can't help you split any rewards, officer," he said and forced a smile. The chief grunted. "Well, you never can tell. I always just take a look around when a circus comes to town." He replaced the sheaf of circulars In his hip pocket. After a time, which seemed eternity, Joe Barry walked away from the marquee, mar-quee, alone. Yet he was not alone, for there was a memory with him, of a thin-lipped man he had seen pictured pic-tured in that last group o.' circulars, a grim, prematurely old man. with hollows in his cheeks and the hatred of a cornered animal in his eyes. It had not, in fact, been the resemblance which had startled him. but the dis similarity; sun had tanned his skin now to healthy darkness, food and i sleep had filled the sunken' cheeks, ! work had hardened the flesh. But it I was he, nevertheless, who had faced j him from the shiny piece of paper. Hymie Eradke came back to life, holding his manicured hands close to the bars to catch the light from grated windows upon the brilliance of buffed nails. Then there was Martin and Louie and Fullhouse and this fellow whom Hymie called Big Friday; of j a sudden the five names seemed to take on a relationship, Martin and Louie, Fullhouse and Big Friday, while Hymie seemed to stand off at one side, dispensed with. After tiiat day, Joe Barry avoided the crowded midway. lie worked harder than ever. One afternoon. Sue halted him, as he moved to the dress-: dress-: Ing tent from its rear. "I've been waiting for you for more than an hour." Joe brightened with the knowledge that Sue was pouting playfully. "I wanted to tell you something." some-thing." "Yes?" be came closer. "Uncle Dan said he'd let me." There was a hint of excitement in her air. "You've got to promise me something first, though." Joe Barry clasped his hands behind his hack; he often did this when Sue Dayton stood before him, unconsciously unconscious-ly ti'iiipting him. There were tiiiws when crazed thoughts danced ocrws lm brain of the man. urging him on .mil fori, Hiding in t lie same spasmodic command, hinting that he might have her if he worked for her, and Jeering that he could never have her, that he must always stand as he stood now, dumb, wordless, because his tongue could not and must not say the things which they so longed to utter. "Well, do you promise?" she asked. "Of course." It was toneless. "What?" "Joe," she said earnestly, "you've got to quit working so hard. At It the first thing in the morning and the last at night Dncle Dan wants you to concentrate on the show itself. That's what I was going to tell you. He's giving you a raise next week." "But he gave me one only a short time ago." "I know. This Isn't as much ; only five dollars a week." "What's my new job I won't have to give up your act?" "Of course not 1" She laughed. "No, it's something in addition. After our act's over, you're to get into riding rid-ing clothes as soon as possible, and come In and run the races." "But " The white had come suddenly sud-denly about his mouth. The girl touched his arm. "I don't think you understand, Joe," i she said. "It's really a terrible advance. ad-vance. Uncle Dan says that you're just a natural showman, that you act like a person who's been pent up all your life and is just blossoming out into your real self." She perked her pretty head and smiled. "That's a lot for Uncle Dan to say. Don't you see, Joe? It means, next season, Joe you'll be assistant equestrian director." The man mumbled his thanks and looked away. The girl sensed his reluctance. re-luctance. "I thought you'd be glad," came disappointedly. dis-appointedly. Joe Barry whirled and caught her hands. "Sue," came swiftly, "if 1 can only do what you say work here and be the assistant equestrian director next year, or the worst paid canvas man on A Faint Smile Came to the Dry Lips of the Chief. "There's a Reward on Everybody in There," He Said. the lot, I'll be the happiest person In the world. It isn't the job it's just to be here, with you, with you and Uncle Dan and everybody," he finished lamely. A bugl-? Interrupted, the call to the dressing tents. Sue looked with surprise sur-prise at her wrist watch and was gone. Joe Barry could find no joy In the news which she had brought him. To dress in riding clothes and to appear ap-pear In "straight-face" before the audience audi-ence each day ; this was tantamount to putting himself on exhibition, where every "clown cop" in the audience might unconsciously watch and study him. Suppose a picture had been fixed in their minds, from long poring over reward circulars? A certain hopelessness hopeless-ness came over him. But nothing happened, when, the next day, Joe Barry took his new job at the races. It was not work in which he could move about, he must stay at the bell in the guise of a starter, clanging the gong for the start and for the halfway and the wild ringing of the finish. But nothing happened. One day Uncle Dan came blustering down , the hippodrome track and called to Joe as he passed. (TO BE CONTINUED.) |