all the irony of luck, Colonel Grand brought fair weather. It was as if he had ordered the sun to shine and it obeyed him.
When the mud-covered wagons rumbled into town after their tortuous twenty-mile journey, the sun was high and the skies were clear and all the world seemed to be singing with the birds.
David had prepared Mrs. Braddock and Christine; they looked for the Colonel on the station platform as the train rolled in. He was there, waiting, as if directed by Providence, at the foot of the steps which Mrs. Braddock was to descend. He had eyes for no one until she appeared in the car door. Then his ugly smile projected itself; his silk hat came off and he bowed low. One knowing the innermost workings of Colonel Grand's mind would have understood the profoundness of that bow. He was giving her time to collect herself; he was, on his own part, deliberately evading the look of repugnance he knew so well would leap into her eyes at the first glimpse of him.
She did not see the hand he extended, but with a cool nod of her head, stepped unaided to the platform. Another man would have felt the rebuke. Colonel Grand, with the utmost deference in his manner, quietly relieved her of the traveling bag, his hat still in his hand. He sent a smile of greeting up to David and the angry-eyed Christine.
"Bring Christine's bag, Jack," he called out. "I have a hack waiting on the other side of the depot. It is too muddy for walking."
Mary Braddock drew herself up, her eyes flashed and her lips parted to resent this easy proprietorship. But she saw that a group of performers were staring at them in plain curiosity. She closed her lips in bitter determination, and walked off at his side. Close behind came her daughter and the young Virginian.
Joey Grinaldi addressed himself to the little knot of strollers.
"I never did see such a look as she gave 'im," said he. "My eye! It was a stinger. Take my word for it, she's going to take the bit in 'er mouth afore you know it, and show that hyena wot she's made of."
"Hyena, dad?" scoffed his daughter. "He's not even that. He's a rep-tile."
"Well, he brought the sunshine," said one of the women half-heartedly.
"But it's still muddy," retorted Joey with dogged pessimism. They trooped off after him, each one lighter hearted in spite of a dull reluctance, simply because Colonel Grand had brought not only the sunshine but a life-saving opulence.
Thomas Braddock, muddy, unkempt and sour, had managed to sleep off some of the effects of the liquor he had poured into himself the night before. True to his word, he had traveled by wagon. The treasurer of the circus had seen to it that he was tossed like a bundle of rags into the ticket wagon, there to roll and jostle from wall to wall over twenty miles of oblivion.
He was waiting at the show grounds for the return of the street parade when he saw his wife and Christine approaching, followed at some distance by Colonel Grand and the faithful David.
"Well," said he harshly, as the women came up to him, "you were too good to travel as I did, eh? Had to borrow money to ride in palace cars, eh? Fine thing for you to do, you two,—setting an example like that. I suppose Bob Grand put up for you. I notice you didn't mention his name to me, you—"
Christine and her mother had talked long and earnestly together on the train coming down. The girl's cheeks had burnt during that serious conference, to which no outsider was admitted. Her mother had listened to an eager, piteous appeal from the lips of the girl; it was the cry of a maiden who suddenly realizes that she is conscious of a modesty heretofore dormant. Together they were now taking up a very portentous question with Thomas Braddock, with small hope of having him see the matter from their point of view.
Mary Braddock had no retort ready for his ruffianly insinuation.
"Are you too busy, Tom, to come over to the cook-tent with us for a few moments? I want to speak very seriously about something that has been on my mind for some time."
Colonel Grand and David were sauntering off in the direction of the animal tent.
"Why ain't that loafer in the parade where he belongs?" demanded Braddock, glaring red-eyed at the retreating David.
"How should I know? Ask Colonel Grand. He appears to be giving directions nowadays," said his wife bitterly.
"Well, what do you want of me? Let's have it, please. I'm busy."
"Not out here, Tom. Come over to the cook-tent."
Braddock glanced at her sharply. It occurred to him that she was unusually calm and serious. He turned after a moment and led the way to the cook-tent, which was always unoccupied at this time.