Page:The Yellow Book - 07.djvu/292

 "Because you’ve lost your temper with me, Joe, you needn't make yourself unsociable all round," Maggie called after him.

"I was going to get yer some fresh water. I see yer can's empty," he answered, reproachfully.

"Oh, there ain't no 'urry for that. Sit down and 'ave a fresh cup o' tea."

She faced round again, smiling through her tears, and filled up his cup, while the "lieutenant" went on winking and rolling himself a cigarette.

"An' Pimples," Maggie asked presently, "shall 'e 'ave this bit o' bacon what's left over?"

Joe shrugged his broad shoulders with an assumption of contemptuous indifference.

"Scottie," Maggie called, ere's a bit o' bacon for yer."

"I'm na goin' to tak' charity at my time o' life," the little man shouted, and, rising, strode defiantly out of the tent.

5.30 p.m.—The show was packed. The band was playing "Nancy Lee;" Quito, in his flesh-coloured tights, was cantering round the ring, and the children were roaring with laughter as Sam Giddens banged the boss over the head with a bladder.

For the last time I strolled through the tents. Outside the dressing-room I found "Jacko" kneeling on the ground, busy pasting the paper hoops; beside the tableaux the coons were fighting a gang of over-inquisitive dock-labourers, ousting them from the camp with a heavy volley of broken British oaths; and on the steps of the harness waggon the old doctor sat watching them, moodily puffing at his short black pipe. The "lieutenant" was waxing his coal-black moustache; Joe and "Scottie" were amicably harnessing