Part 8 (1/2)
”That's right, it's jes' the same with a circus. One year ye give 'em the rottenest kind of a thing, and they eat it up; the next year you hand 'em a knock-out, and it's a frost. Is that the way it is with a church show?”
”Much the same,” Douglas admitted half-amusedly, half-regretfully. ”Very often when I work the hardest, I seem to do the least good.”
”I guess our troubles is pretty much alike.” Polly nodded with a motherly air of condescension. ”Only there ain't so much danger in your act.”
”I'm not so sure about that,” he laughed.
”Well, you take my tip,” she leaned forward as though about to impart a very valuable bit of information. ”Don't you never go in for ridin'.
There ain't no act on earth so hard as a ridin' act. The rest of the bunch has got it easy alongside of us. Take the fellows on the trapeze.
They always get their tackle up in jes' the same place. Take the balancin' acts; there ain't no difference in their layouts. Take any of 'em as depends on regular props; and they ain't got much chance a-goin'
wrong. But say, when yer have ter do a ridin' act, there ain't never no two times alike. If your horse is feelin' good, the ground is stumbly; if the ground ain't on the blink the horse is wobbly. Ther's always somethin' wrong somewheres, and yer ain't never knowin' how it's goin'
ter end--especially when you got to do a careful act like mine. There's a girl, Eloise, in our bunch, what does a SHOWY act on a horse what Barker calls Barbarian. She goes on in my place sometimes--and say, them rubes applauds her as much as me, an' her stunts is baby tricks alongside o' mine. It's enough to make you sick o' art.” She shook her head dolefully, then sat up with renewed interest.
”You see, mine is careful balancin' an' all that, an' you got ter know your horse an' your ground for that. Now you get wise ter what I'm a-tellin' yer, and don't you NEVER go into ANYTHIN' what depends on ANYTHIN' else.”
”Thank you, Polly, I won't.” Douglas somehow felt that he was very much indebted to her.
”I seen a church show once,” Polly said suddenly.
”You did?” Douglas asked, with new interest.
”Yes,” she answered, closing her lips and venturing no further comment.
”Did you like it?” he questioned, after a pause.
”Couldn't make nothin' out of it--I don't care much for readin'.”
”Oh, it isn't ALL reading,” he corrected.
”Well, the guy I saw read all of his'n. He got the whole thing right out of a book.”
”Oh, that was only his text,” laughed Douglas. ”Text?”
”Yes. And later he tried to interpret to his congrega----”
”Easy! Easy!” she interrupted; ”come again with that, will you?”
”He told them the meaning of what he read.” ”Well, I don't know what he told 'em, but it didn't mean anythin' to me. But maybe your show is better'n his was,” she added, trying to pacify him.
Douglas was undecided whether to feel amused or grateful for Polly's ever-increasing sympathy. Before he could trust his twitching lips to answer, she had put another question to him.
”Are you goin' to do a stunt while I am here?”
”I preach every Sunday, if that's what you mean; I preach this morning.”
”Is this Sunday?” she asked, sitting up with renewed energy and looking about the room as though everything had changed colour.
”Yes.”