Have it here good and quick, and I 'll make you my head trapeze man!"
Lonely looked at him steadily.
"I 'd rather do tumblin'," he ventured, earnestly; and he wondered just why the man hawhawed a little, as he pushed him hurriedly out of the tent.
He sped away from the musty-smelling place of hunger, dead drunk, hopelessly intoxicated with that wine which can be bought at few inns and leaves no taste of ashes on the lips of youth.
It was all over and done with. Alaska Alice, the flying-machine, home and friends, they were things of the past. He was to go away and join the circus!
Lonely made his way into the town floating on clouds, to the sound of celestial music. Unseeing and unheeding, he passed little hurrying groups of boys—leaving them to gaze in wonder after the Outlander who could so defy the last law of juvenile gravitation and travel away, at such a time, from that eternal centre of attraction, the circus tent.
Houses were opening up sleepily, shutters were being taken down from shop-windows,
