glass of lemonade. She clutched a tent rope as the dark earth seemed to rock beneath her.
The jigging music drummed in her ears. She was afraid of the obscure forms that moved about her, their faces distorted into strange grimaces by the flickering lights. She almost cried out as a hand was laid on her arm by someone who had come up behind her.
"It's me—Bill," said Bastien's voice in her ear. "What are you jumping for? I'm not going to hurt you." He gave a short, excited laugh and looked over her shoulder into her face, his white teeth gleaming in his dark face. "I've been watching you spinning round on that darned whirligig with Kirke. Are you gone on him, Delight? I tell you, he'll never marry you, if that's what you're looking for. All he cares for you is to use you as a tool to spite me. I care more for your little finger than he does for your whole body. Look here, I could have shot old Jessop when she fired you. I'll get even with her for it, too."
"Here comes Mr. Kirke with the lemonade," breathed Delight. She feared trouble between the two men. The air seemed charged with danger, full of a sinister tension.
Bastien pressed her arm. "All right. I'll get out. But I've got to have a talk with you. I want us to work together instead of against each other, see? I've got a plan. I'll tell you this much. I've been to the city to see Mr. Hodgins—the owner, you know—and he's firing Mrs. Jessop next week, see?"
Kirke stood before them, a bottle of lemonade in his hand.
"Is this young woman here with you or with me?" he bit off, an angry gleam in his eyes.
"Keep your hair on, Scotchie," laughed Bastien. He pressed closer to Delight and whispered in her ear: "I'll
