We went into camp under the landward glacis of the cliffs, in a field

of clover which was to be ploughed under in a few days. We all were

there except Kelly Eyre, who had gone to telegraph the governor of

Lorient for permission to enter the port with the circus.

Another messenger also left camp on private business for me.

It was part of my duty to ration the hay for the elephant and the

thrice-accursed camel. The latter had just bitten Mr. Grigg, our

clown--not severely--and Speed and Horan the "Strong Man" were

hobbling the brute as I finished feeding my lions and came up to

assist the others.

"Watch that darn elephant, too, Mr. Grigg," said Byram, looking up

from a plate of fried ham that Miss Crystal, our "Trapeze Lady," had

just cooked for him over our gypsy fires of driftwood.

"Look at that elephant! Look at him!" continued Byram, with a trace

of animation lighting up his careworn face--"look at him now chuckin'

hay over his back. Scrape it up, Mr. Scarlett; hay's thirty a ton in

this war-starved country."

As I started to clean up the precious hay, the elephant gave a curious

grunt and swung his trunk toward me.

"There's somethin' paltry about that elephant," said Byram, in a

complaining voice, rising, with plate of ham in one hand, fork in the

other. "He's gittin' as mean as that crafty camuel. Make him move,

Mr. Speed, or he'll put his foot on the trombone."

"Hô Djebe! Mâil!" said Speed, sharply.

The elephant obediently shuffled forward; Byram sat down again, and

wearily cut himself a bit of fried ham; and presently we were all

sitting around the long camp-table in the glare of two smoky petroleum

torches, eating our bread and ham and potatoes and drinking Breton

cider, a jug of which Mr. Horan had purchased for a few coppers.

Some among us were too tired to eat, many too tired for conversation,

yet, from habit we fell into small talk concerning the circus, the

animals, the prospects of better days.

The ladies of the company, whatever quarrels they indulged in among

themselves, stood loyally by Byram in his anxiety and need. Miss

Crystal and Miss Delany displayed edifying optimism; Mrs. Horan

refrained from nagging; Mrs. Grigg, a pretty little creature, who was

one of the best equestriennes I ever saw, declared that we were living

too well and that a little dieting wouldn't hurt anybody.

McCadger, our band-master, came over from the other fire to say that

the men had finished grooming the horses, and would I inspect the

picket-line, as Kelly Eyre was still absent.

When I returned, the ladies had retired to their blankets under their

shelter-tent; poor little Grigg lay asleep at the table, his tired,

ugly head resting among the unwashed tin plates; Speed sprawled in his

chair, smoking a short pipe; Byram sat all hunched up, his head sunk,

eyes vacantly following the movements of two men who were washing

dishes in the flickering torch-light.

He looked up at me, saying: "I guess Mr. Speed is right. Them lions

o' yourn is fed too much horse-meat. Overeatin' is overheatin'; we've

got to give 'em beef or they'll be clawin' you. Yes, sir, they're all

het up. Hear 'em growl!"

"That's a fable, governor," I said, smiling and dropping into a

chair. "I've heard that theory before, but it isn't true."

"The trouble with your lions is that you play with them too much and

they're losing respect for you," said Speed, drowsily.

"The trouble with my lions," said I, "is that they were born in

captivity. Give me a wild lion, caught on his native heath, and I'll

know what to expect from him when I tame him. But no man on earth can

tell what a lion born in captivity will do."

The hard cider had cheered Byram a little; he drew a cherished cigar

from his vest-pocket, offered it to me, and when I considerately

refused, he carefully set it alight with a splinter from the fire. Its

odor was indescribable.

"Luck's a curious phenomena, ain't it, Mr. Scarlett?" he said.

I agreed with him.

"Luck," continued Byram, waving his cigar toward the four quarters of

the globe, "is the rich man's slave an' the poor man's tyrant. It's

also a see-saw. When the devil plays in luck the cherubim git

spanked--or words to that effec'--not meanin' no profanity."

"It's about like that, governor," admitted Speed, lazily.

Byram leaned back and sucked meditatively at his cigar. The new moon

was just rising over the elephant's hindquarters, and the poetry of

the incident appeared to move the manager profoundly. He turned and

surveyed the dim bivouac, the two silent tents, the monstrous,

shadowy bulk of the elephant, rocking monotonously against the sky.

"Kind of Silurian an' solemn, ain't it," he murmured, "the moon

shinin' onto the rump of that primeval pachyderm. It's like the dark

ages of the behemoth an' the cony. I tell you, gentlemen, when them

fearsome an' gigantic mamuels was aboundin' in the dawn of creation,

the public missed the greatest show on earth--by a few million

years!"

We nodded sleepily but gravely.

Byram appeared to have recovered something of his buoyancy and native

optimism.

"Gentlemen," he said, "let's kinder saunter over to the inn and have

a night-cap with Kelly Eyre."

This unusual and expensive suggestion startled us wide awake, but we

were only too glad to acquiesce in anything which tended to raise his

spirits or ours. Dog tired but smiling we rose; Byram, in his

shirt-sleeves and suspenders, wearing his silk hat on the back of his

head, led the way, fanning his perspiring face with a red-and-yellow

bandanna.

"Luck," said Byram, waving his cigar toward the new moon, "is bound

to turn one way or t'other--like my camuel. Sometimes, resemblin' the

camuel, luck will turn on you. Look out it don't bite you. I once made

up a piece about luck:

"'Don't buck

Bad luck

Or you'll get stuck--'

I disremember the rest, but it went on to say a few other words to

that effec'."

The lighted door of the inn hung ajar as we crossed the star-lit

square; Byram entered and stood a moment in the doorway, stroking his

chin. "Bong joor the company!" he said, lifting his battered hat.

The few Bretons in the wine-room returned his civility; he glanced

about and his eye fell on Kelly Eyre, Speed's assistant balloonist,

seated by the window with Horan.

"Well, gents," said Byram, hopefully, "an' what aire the prospects

of smilin' fortune when rosy-fingered dawn has came again to kiss us

back to life?"

"Rotten," said Eyre, pushing a telegram across the oak table.

Byram's face fell; he picked up the telegram and fumbled in his coat

for his spectacles with unsteady hand.

"Let me read it, governor," said Speed, and took the blue paper from

Byram's unresisting, stubby fingers.

"O-ho!" he muttered, scanning the message; "well--well, it's not so

bad as all that--" He turned abruptly on Kelly Eyre--"What the devil

are you scaring the governor for?"

"Well, he's got to be told--I didn't mean to worry him," said Eyre,

stammering, ashamed of his thoughtlessness.

"Now see here, governor," said Speed, "let's all have a drink first.

Hé ma belle!"--to the big Breton girl knitting in the corner--"four

little swallows of eau-de-vie, if you please! Ah, thank you, I knew

you were from Bannalec, where all the girls are as clever as they are

pretty! Come, governor, touch glasses! There is no circus but the

circus, and Byram is it's prophet! Drink, gentlemen!"

But his forced gayety was ominous; we scarcely tasted the liqueur.

Byram wiped his brow and squared his bent shoulders. Speed, elbows on

the table, sat musing and twirling his half-empty glass.

"Well, sir?" said Byram, in a low voice.

"Well, governor? Oh--er--the telegram?" asked Speed, like a man

fighting for time.

"Yes, the telegram," said Byram, patiently.

"Well, you see they have just heard of the terrible smash-up in the

north, governor. Metz has surrendered with Bazaine's entire army. And

they're naturally frightened at Lorient.... And I rather fear that the

Germans are on their way toward the coast.... And ... well ... they

won't let us pass the Lorient fortifications."

"Won't let us in?" cried Byram, hoarsely.

"I'm afraid not, governor."

Byram stared at us. We had counted on Lorient to pull us through as

far as the frontier.

"Now don't take it so hard, governor," said Kelly Eyre; "I was

frightened myself, at first, but I'm ashamed of it now. We'll pull

through, anyhow."

"Certainly," said Speed, cheerily, "we'll just lay up here for a few

days and economize. Why can't we try one performance here, Scarlett?"

"We can," said I. "We'll drum up the whole district from Pontivy to

Auray and from Penmarch Point to Plouharnel! Why should the Breton

peasantry not come? Don't they walk miles to the Pardons?"

A gray pallor settled on Byram's sunken face; with it came a certain

dignity which sorrow sometimes brings even to men like him.

"Young gentlemen," he said, "I'm obliged to you. These here reverses

come to everybody, I guess. The Lord knows best; but if He'll just

lemme run my show a leetle longer, I'll pay my debts an' say, 'Thy

will be done, amen!'"

"We all must learn to say that, anyway," said Speed.

"Mebbe," muttered Byram, "but I must pay my debts."

After a painful silence he rose, steadying himself with his hand on

Eyre's broad shoulder, and shambled out across the square, muttering

something about his elephant and his camuel.

Speed paid the insignificant bill, emptied his glass, and nodded at

me.

"It's all up," he said, soberly.

"Let's come back to camp and talk it over," I said.

Together we traversed the square under the stars, and entered the

field of clover. In the dim, smoky camp all lights were out except one

oil-drenched torch stuck in the ground between the two tents. Byram

had gone to rest, so had Kelly Eyre. But my lions were awake, moving

noiselessly to and fro, eyes shining in the dusk; and the elephant, a

shapeless pile of shadow against the sky, stood watching us with

little, evil eyes.

Speed had some cigarettes, and he laid the pink package on the table.

I lighted one when he did.

"Do you really think there's a chance?" he asked, presently.

"I don't know," I said.

"Well, we can try."

"Oh yes."

Speed dropped his elbows on the table. "Poor old governor," he said.

Then he began to talk of our own prospects, which were certainly

obscure if not alarming; but he soon gave up speculation as futile,

and grew reminiscent, recalling our first acquaintance as discharged

soldiers from the African battalions, our hand-to-mouth existence as

gentlemen farmers in Algiers, our bankruptcy and desperate struggle in

Marseilles, first as dock-workmen, then as government horse-buyers for

the cavalry, then as employés of the Hippodrome in Paris, where I

finally settled down as bareback rider, lion-tamer, and instructor in

the haute-école; and he accepted a salary as aid to Monsieur Gaston

Tissandier, the scientist, who was experimenting with balloons at

Saint-Cloud.

He spoke, too, of our enlistment in the Imperial Police, and the hopes

we had of advancement, which not only brought no response from me, but

left us both brooding sullenly on our wrongs, crouched there over the

rough camp-table under the stars.

"Oh, hell!" muttered Speed, "I'm going to bed."

But he did not move. Presently he said, "How did you ever come to

handle wild animals?"

"I've always been fond of animals; I broke colts at home; I had bear

cubs and other things. Then, in Algiers, the regiment caught a couple

of lions and kept them in a cage, and--well, I found I could do what I

liked with them."

"They're afraid of your eyes, aren't they?"

"I don't know--perhaps it's that; I can't explain it--or, rather, I

could partly explain it by saying that I am not afraid of them. But I

never trust them."

"You drag them all around the cage! You shove them about like sacks

of meal!"

"Yes,... but I don't trust them."

"It seems to me," said Speed, "that your lions are getting rather

impudent these days. They're not very much afraid of you now."

"Nor I of them," I said, wearily; "I'm much more anxious about you

when you go sailing about in that patched balloon of yours. Are you

never nervous?"

"Nervous? When?"

"When you're up there?"

"Rubbish."

"Suppose the patches give way?"

"I never think of that," he said, leaning on the table with a yawn.

"Oh, Lord, how tired I am!... but I shall not be able to sleep. I'm

actually too tired to sleep. Have you got a pack of cards, Scarlett?

or a decent cigar, or a glass of anything, or anything to show me

more amusing than that nightmare of an elephant? Oh, I'm sick of the

whole business--sick! sick! The stench of the tan-bark never leaves my

nostrils except when the odor of fried ham or of that devilish camel

replaces it.

"I'm too old to enjoy a gypsy drama when it's acted by myself; I'm

tired of trudging through the world with my entire estate in my

pocket. I want a home, Scarlett. Lord, how I envy people with homes!"

He had been indulging in this outburst with his back partly turned

toward me. I did not say anything, and, after a moment, he looked at

me over his shoulder to see how I took it.

"I'd like to have a home, too," I said.

"I suppose homes are not meant for men like you and me," he said.

"Lord, how I would appreciate one, though--anything with a bit of

grass in the yard and a shovelful of dirt--enough to grow some damn

flower, you know.... Did you smell the posies in the square

to-night?... Something of that kind,... anything, Scarlett--anything

that can be called a home!... But you can't understand."

"Oh yes, I can," I said.

He went on muttering, half to himself: "We're of the same

breed--pariahs; fortunately, pariahs don't last long,... like the wild

creatures who never die natural deaths,... old age is one of the

curses they can safely discount,... and so can we, Scarlett, so can

we.... For you'll be mauled by a lion or kicked into glory by a horse

or an ox or an ass,... and I'll fall off a balloon,... or the camel

will give me tetanus, or the elephant will get me in one way or

another,... or something...."

Again he twisted around to look at me. "Funny, isn't it?"

"Rather funny," I said, listlessly.

He leaned over, pulled another cigarette from the pink packet, broke a

match from the card, and lighted it.

"I feel better," he observed.

I expressed sleepy gratification.

"Oh yes, I'm much better. This isn't a bad life, is it?"

"Oh no!" I said, sarcastically.

"No, it's all right, and we've got to pull the poor old governor

through and give a jolly good show here and start the whole country

toward the tent door! Eh?"

"Certainly. Don't let me detain you."

"I'll tell you what," he said, "if we only had that poor little

girl, Miss Claridge, we'd catch these Bretons. That's what took the

coast-folk all over Europe, so Grigg says."

Miss Claridge had performed in a large glass tank as the "Leaping

Mermaid." It took like wildfire according to our fellow-performers. We

had never seen her; she was killed by diving into her tank when the

circus was at Antwerp in April.

"Can't we get up something like that?" I suggested, hopelessly.

"Who would do it? Miss Claridge's fish-tights are in the prop-box;

who's to wear them?"

He began to say something else, but stopped suddenly, eyes fixed. We

were seated nearly opposite each other, and I turned around, following

the direction of his eyes.

Jacqueline stood behind me in the smoky light of the torch--Jacqueline,

bare of arm and knee, with her sea-blue eyes very wide and the witch-locks

clustering around the dim oval of her face. After a moment's absolute

silence she said: "I came from Paradise. Don't you remember?"

"From Paradise?" said Speed, smiling; "I thought it might be from

elf-land."

And I said: "Of course I remember you, Jacqueline. And I have an idea

you ought to be in bed."

There was another silence.

"Won't you sit down?" asked Speed.

"Thank you," said Jacqueline, gravely.

She seated herself on a sack of sawdust, clasping her slender hands

between her knees, and looked earnestly at the elephant.

"He won't harm you," I assured her.

"If you think I am afraid of that," she said, "you are mistaken,

Monsieur Scarlett."

"I don't think you are afraid of anything," observed Speed, smiling;

"but I know you are capable of astonishment."

"How do you know that?" demanded the girl.

"Because I saw you with your drum on the high-road when we came past

Paradise. Your eyes were similar to saucers, and your mouth was not

closed, Mademoiselle Jacqueline."

"Oh--pour ça--yes, I was astonished," she said. Then, with a quick,

upward glance: "Were you riding, in armor, on a horse?"

"No," said Speed; "I was on that elephant's head."

This appeared to make a certain impression on Jacqueline. She became

shyer of speech for a while, until he asked her, jestingly, why she

did not join the circus.

"It is what I wish," she said, under her breath.

"And ride white horses?"

"Will you take me?" she cried, passionately, springing to her feet.

Amazed at her earnestness, I tried to explain that such an idea was

out of the question. She listened anxiously at first, then her eyes

fell and she stood there in the torch-light, head hanging.

"Don't you know," said Speed, kindly, "that it takes years of

practice to do what circus people do? And the life is not gay,

Jacqueline; it is hard for all of us. We know what hunger means; we

know sickness and want and cold. Believe me, you are happier in

Paradise than we are in the circus."

"It may be," she said, quietly.

"Of course it is," he insisted.

"But," she flashed out, "I would rather be unhappy in the circus

than happy in Paradise!"

He protested, smiling, but she would have her way.

"I once saw a man, in spangles, turning, turning, and ever turning

upon a rod. He was very far away, and that was very long ago--at the

fair in Bannalec. But I have not forgotten! No, monsieur! In our

net-shed I also have fixed a bar of wood, and on it I turn, turn

continually. I am not ignorant of twisting. I can place my legs over

my neck and cross my feet under my chin. Also I can stand on both

hands, and I can throw scores of handsprings--which I do every morning

upon the beach--I, Jacqueline!"

She was excited; she stretched out both bare arms as though preparing

to demonstrate her ability then and there.

"I should like to see a circus," she said. "Then I should know what

to do. That I can swing higher than any girl in Paradise has been

demonstrated often," she went on, earnestly. "I can swim farther, I

can dive deeper, I can run faster, with bare feet or with sabots, than

anybody, man or woman, from the Beacon to Our Lady's Chapel! At bowls

the men will not allow me because I have beaten them all, monsieur,

even the mayor, which he never forgave. As for the farandole, I tire

last of all--and it is the biniou who cries out for mercy!"

She laughed and pushed back her hair, standing straight up in the

yellow radiance like a moor-sprite. There was something almost

unearthly in her lithe young body and fearless sea-blue eyes,

sparkling from the shock of curls.

"So you can dive and swim?" asked Speed, with a glance at me.

"Like the salmon in the Läita, monsieur."

"Under water?"

"Parbleu!"

After a pause I asked her age.

"Fifteen, M'sieu Scarlett."

"You don't look thirteen, Jacqueline."

"I think I should grow faster if we were not so poor," she said,

innocently.

"You mean that you don't get enough to eat?"

"Not always, m'sieu. But that is so with everybody except the

wealthy."

"Suppose we try her," said Speed, after a silence. "You and I can

scrape up a little money for her if worst comes to worst."

"How about her father?"

"You can see him. What is he?"

"A poacher, I understand."

"Oh, then it's easy enough. Give him a few francs. He'll take the

child's salary, anyway, if this thing turns out well."

"Jacqueline," I said, "we can't afford to pay you much money, you

know."

"Money?" repeated the child, vacantly. "Money! If I had my arms

full--so!--I would throw it into the world--so!"--she glanced at

Speed--"reserving enough for a new skirt, monsieur, of which I stand

in some necessity."

The quaint seriousness, the resolute fearlessness of this little maid

of Paradise touched us both, I think, as she stood there restlessly,

balancing on her slim bare feet, finger-tips poised on her hips.

"Won't you take me?" she asked, sweetly.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Jacqueline," said I. "Very early in the

morning I'll go down to your house and see your father. Then, if he

makes no objection, I'll get you to put on a pretty swimming-suit, all

made out of silver scales, and you can show me, there in the sea, how

you can dive and swim and play at mermaid. Does that please you?"

She looked earnestly at me, then at Speed.

"Is it a promise?" she asked, in a quivering voice.

"Yes, Jacqueline."

"Then I thank you, M'sieu Scarlett,... and you, m'sieur, who ride the

elephant so splendidly.... And I will be waiting for you when you

come.... We live in the house below the Saint-Julien Light.... My

father is pilot of the port.... Anybody will tell you." ...

"I will not forget," said I.

She bade us good-night very prettily, stepped back out of the circle

of torch-light, and vanished--there is no other word for it.

"Gracious," said Speed, "wasn't that rather sudden? Or is that the

child yonder? No, it's a bush. Well, Scarlett, there's an uncanny

young one for you--no, not uncanny, but a spirit in its most delicate

sense. I've an idea she's going to find poor Byram's lost luck for

him."

"Or break her neck," I observed.

Speed was quiet for a long while.

"By-the-way," he said, at last, "are you going to tell the Countess

about that fellow Buckhurst?"

"I sent a note to her before I fed my lions," I replied.

"Are you going to see her?"

"If she desires it."

"Who took the note, Scarlett?"

"Jacqueline's father,... that Lizard fellow."

"Well, don't let's stir up Buckhurst now," said Speed. "Let's do

what we can for the governor first."

"Of course," said I. "And I'm going to bed. Good-night."

"Good-night," said Speed, thoughtfully. "I'll join you in a

moment."

When I was ready for bed and stood at the tent door, peering out into

the darkness, I saw Speed curled up on a blanket between the

elephant's forefeet, sound asleep.




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