Page:Stringer - Lonely O'Malley.djvu/142

 reaction which always came in the wake of one of his "grand moments." Three times he was swept forlornly past the ticket-seller, without so much as catching the eye of his old-time friend; twice he was driven wrathfully and promptly outside the ropes. And time was flying. The crowd grew smaller, the shadows grew a little longer, the draught-horses placidly munched their hay, the sound of muffled music crept out through the rippling canvas. The Grand Entry had begun.

Lonely circled the long, well-guarded ring of tent-stakes, broken, humiliated, thrice chastened, and yet for all his outward aimlessness, still tense of nerve and alert of eye.

On the sunny southwest side of the great tent he crawled in under the line of huddled, heavy wagons, now empty and dismal looking, left waiting there for their midnight loads.

Lonely had suddenly noticed that the guard who patrolled this sunniest and hottest side of the tent every now and then mopped his face with a huge red handkerchief.

He most carefully and guardedly watched for his chance,—which came and went with