“FAY OF THE RING"

Manawatu Times, Volume 60, Issue 132, 7 June 1935, Page 9

“FAY OF THE RING"

(By A. A. THOMSON)

| Instalment 21 t t 2

the legs of my tights was a trifle creased and I took particular care to smooth, out the -crease. I found a needle and thread and stitched up several spangles that were 'hanging a little loose from my tunic. Marjoram’s star-artists must look their best. “Mother av heaven!” I heard a voice exclaim.

Fare thee well, my fairy V aj. The weight pressing inside my brain. You’re all right, Ben- ' ou ' had a shock. Wonderful boxy some -people can stand shocks! Nothing can go wrong so long as . . • • Fa 5 r married this morning, and she might have married-you! Something in my brain snapped, i felt it as clearly as the breaking of a fiddle string. It was the weight that had done it, the crushing weight. What am 1 doing here? All these faces down below, tiers and tiers o them—front rows, middle rows sixpenny gallery. Fay isn’t married, sne can’t be. God wouldn't allow it. It s a trick, a joke, a horrible dream. I n wake lip soon. Funny, dreaming you re riding a tight-rope bicycle! No, Bon, you’re awake all right-. She’s gone. You fool! For I’m off to Louisiana for to see my Susyanna. Oh, God, take this weight off my head and tell them to stop playing that tune. Asv them, just as a favour, to -play something else. Thank you, Mr Wancuc, your favourite, Dreaming, dreaming. A good tune, though not so fine as “Tarara-Boom-dc-ay.” What made you marry him? All my life I ve loved you, Fay. Remember when you first laughed at my clumsy boots? Loved you day and night, waking and sleeping'; trembled when you came neat. Little Fay, fragile as a flower-petal. It was your voice that I loved best of all. My love’s like the melody that s sweetly played in tune. Oh, damn your Penny Poets. Careful, Ben, vou’re going to fall. Head up, Ben! Stiffen the sinews, summon up tlm blood! I’m trying, Mr Wandlc. I can t help looking down sometimes. . 1 m only a little boy. It makes me dizzy. That you have wronged me, Brutus, cloth appear in this. Surely it wouldn’t matter if I looked down just once. You’re mad. Ben. Mad. Wat Wandle’s been dead these ten years. Dead. Didn’t they play the ‘Stephanie Gavotte’ over his grave ? lie never knew that Fay married somebody else. A most gentlemanly young fellow. Only she doesn't lcve him. She 10ve5....

Madam Caterina was standing at the foot of the van steps. "Mother av heaven, what ails ye, Ben? Ye’ve got a face like chalk.” “I’m all right, Caterina,” I replied quite easily. “I wasn’t feeling lit this morning, but I’ve rested most of the day and there’s nothing wrong with me now.”

Caterina scanned my face suspiciously. “I don’t like the look av ye,” she said, “tout ye’ll have to go- on and do the best ye can. Duke’s in a tearin’ timper along av that dirty portereater -Graff, that can neither kape away from his liquor nor hold it when be has it drunk. These last weeks he's niver been -sober one day together. -lle’ll niver do his act tonight, and if you let Duke see you walkin’ with a face like a -corpse at a wake, there’ll be the divil and all to pay. Iverybody's upset and jangled to-night. You’d think that even Daisy knew there was -something. . . something—” “Cheer up, Caterina,” 1 heard a voice say. It was my own. Except for that dead weight on my -brain I was perfectly 'cool and collected. A part of me was numbed. That was all "I’m as -right as rain myself; I’ve got five minutes just lo sew on this last spangle, and then I’ll be quite ready. “Good luck to ye, Ben, though I’m wishin’ -the face av ye didn’t look the colour of skim milk.”

Cool and collected. That was tho idea. Mot upset in the least. Had rather a shock, of -course, but it’s surprising what you can -stand if you take a firm grip of yourself. A shock 'has a terrible effect on some people, but that’s because they haven't your strength of will. Now for it- I walked steadily towards the ring entrance. Bill Sprinks was just finished his absurd knockabout turn with Tumpo. There was a -good house under the big top, and the giant and the -clown were holding the audii/hce well. Whip in hand, Duke Marjoram greeted me at the -curtain. ‘’You’ll have to -give ’em five minutes longer to-night,” toe said, his usually serene torow -clouded with displeasure. “That -scoundrel Graff has been over-imbibing again. We’ve got to spin all the -other turns out a bit. I’ve put'up with that Bird Man’s insolent manner long enough. He shall go this time. The -man is an artist, I admit, but no artist is going to remain with me who hasn’t Tho Spirit. D"unk -or -sober, he’s got to have The vSpirit. I say nothing against champagne as a beverage, within reason, and a -certain amount of latitude is allowable on a day of days, but. . .” He shrugged his shoulders with a gesture of finality. The hand was playing with' exaggerated accentuation a tune -called “Impudence” while Sprinski, the Russian Giant, minced -his final circuit of the -ring, supporting an inverted Tumpo high in the air upon his hands. While Bill performed- a sort of -slow -barn-dance step upon the ground, Tumpo’s feet went through the same evolutions upside-down, in the upper air. It was a dance that never failed to delight a country -audience, who roared with pleasure when, as an ultimate tit-bit of humour, a huge shower of spoons, forks and watches came tumbling from Tumpo’-s trouser pockets about the giant’s cars. “Now, Ben. On with the show. Drunk or -sober any artist of Duke Marjoram’s has got to have The Spirit." Bill and Tumpo ran back for their final bow, and gravely acknowledged the applause. Then Bill seized Tumpo by tho slack of his voluminous trousers and carried him off as though lie were a small brown paper parcel. It was a splendid exit. It always had been. In the normal way, I iikerl to follow it, for it invariably left the audience in a friendly mood.

You’ll laugh when I tell you, Ben. You won’t half laugh. D.. .. You fool!

'Why didn't you tell her? That night, tho night of the storm, slic’d have listened to you. “If people loved like that. nothing else would matter. ” That’s what she said, and you never spoke. You pushed her into his arms You didn't give her a chance to do anything else. Why don’t these handle-bars keep still? Steady. You’d look silly if you were to fall. Queer business, falling. And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, never to hope again. You can’t go wrong with this, Decause the rims of your wheels curve round the rope. Yes, this is the easiest trick of ail, but I must look down just once, Mr Wandle. Just once. All those faces. Stupid, ugly faces, with red gashes for mouths. If people only knew how horrible their faces looked from up here! And the top of Duke Marjoram's silk hat. All a matter of Balance. Extraordinary the angle you inn ride at if you

A violent jerk. A wild scream from aelow. Circus-tent turning a somersault just like Tumpo. And then I’ou’ll be sorry, Fay Marjoram! Net with sawdust beneath it siiooting up ,o meet me. And when he falls, be tails like Lucifer. A slabbing, sicken,ng pain in my leg. Never to hope igain. Darkness Life itself is Punchinello. CHAPTER XV. 'W Make me a Willow Cabin. “ There, blaster Ben, ” said the apple-cheeked old country-woman,“go you into the garden while I put your old room to rights. You'll like yourself better out there in the sun, see if you don’t. ” “Very well, Mrs Goodcy,” I replied, raising myself out of my wheel-back chair. “ There be your ole sticks. ” “ Thank you, Mrs Goodey. ” “ I count that won’t be a wunnerful long time before you're bopping about without they. ” I'm sure it won't and most of the credit will be yours. You’ve been a wonderful nurse, although you’ve oi.illied me a good deal, I must say. “There, get along with you. Master Ben, ” said Mrs Goodcy, smiling all over her wrinkled face and brandishing her broom in playful menace. “ Just you get along. ” Picking up the two sturdy ash plants that leaned against the arm of my chair, I got along, limping stiffly, but not without a certain confidence, towards the open doorway of the coltage. Under the porch that I had first seen covered with Dorothy Perkins ro(S9S, I paused, my eyes dazzled for the moment by the spring sunshine. Behind me I could hear the -subdued clatter of Mrs Goocley’s dust-pan. It was a pleasant, friendly sound. Before me stretched the garden, not so golden or so glowing as when I had flrtst seen it early .last summer, hut. very lovely in its new springtime dress.

“Spin -out the juggling, Ben,” said Duke Marjoram. “I’m having to get that extra few minutes out -of everybody to-night. I’ll see Graff is punished for this, never fear. That man never had The Spirit. Just our luck, too'. This is the sort of thing that would happen when we were playing to immense business. So spin -out the juggling-” “Very well, Mr Marjoram." “You’re not peaky, are you?” “I’m as fit as a Fiddle.”

"That’s The Spirit.” He was -walking into the centre oT the ring in his usual way. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, allow me lo present Young Laylock, -the High Wire Wonder. . But for that weight inside my head J had never felt cooler or steadier as I climbed the rope-ladder to my platform. It was a bigger platform than Wat Wandlc had ever used in the old days, because it contained more “props.” I was a star artist. My name on the bills was as large as Wat’s had been. I ran an appraising eye over the “props.” The basin full of silver balls, the tinsel-covered Indian clubs, the fiddle, the famous high-wire - bicycle with its steel frame and deepset wheel-rims. . . . Now, Ben. This is a perfectly straight-forward performance. You’ve done it hundreds of times before. A good house, down below there. Immense business. And friendly too, since Tumpo and Bill had made them laugh. Always a good tiling to go on after a comic turn. There was loud clapping when I stepdanced across the wire to the tune of “Sweet Marie,” loud clapping when I played “Good-bye My Bluebell” with variations on the Addle. There was a good hand—an exceptionally good hand—for the club-swinging and the juggling with the silver-balls. Spin the juggling out a. bit. Silver balls once more. Right. Thank you very much. And now for the bicycle. Perfeitly simple. The easiest trick of all, with your rims, gripping the rope; not nearly so hard to do,as an ordinary balance, but very effective. (“Gets ’em every time, Ben!”) Push off gently from the platform and keep your eyes front. Band playing. What’s that? Who told them to play that tune? Fare thee well, farewell,

It was nearly eight months since the night when I crashed from the high wire and broke my leg. Eight months. In that time my world had -changed as completely as if I were a different person. Before that night I had been a. dull, honest, hard-working circus-artist. After the -crash I bad been a wreck, numbed in mind and racked with bodily pain: then I bad been a feeble and rather irritable invalid. Now that spring had come round again, I was a convalescent, taking an almost childish delight in returning strength. The world in which spring found me was a new world, but not my own. I had not seen a tent or a waggon since Ihe night of .my crash. Marjoram's Unparalleled was somewhere in Scotland, working steadily . northwards on its spring tour. And here was I, standing by'a cottage door in the heart of the Essex countryside,, breathing the morning air and finding that it was good. There :wqsa -freshness and a fragrance, in. that. air. I. could ■ see: clouds of daffodils nodding in the light breeze, for daffodils were-' everywhere,! gold-crowned and. green-kirtled- They had cone, as Wat Wandle would ha retold me; before'the' swallow' dared and taken the winds of March with beauty.. But now the lady. April was here and, with the morning sun pouring into the porchway, the swallow might dare, anything, Crocuses peeped, portly out of the grass and a clump of grape hyacinths—a/glowing patch of blue—