On Our Selection [32]
to them and dragged them down the gully.
Somehow, Dad began to hate Dan! He scarcely ever spoke to him now, and at meal-times never spoke to any of us. Dad was a hard man to understand. We could n't understand him. "And with DAN at home, too!" Sal used to whine. Sal verily idolised Dan. Hero-worship was strong in Sal.
One night Dad came in for supper rather later than usual. He'd had a hard day, and was done up. To make matters worse, when he was taking the collar off Captain the brute tramped heavily on his toe, and took the nail off. Supper was n't ready. The dining-room was engaged. Dan was showing Sal how the Prince of Wales schottische was danced in the huts Out Back. For music, Sal was humming, and the two were flying about the room. Dad stood at the door and looked on, with blood in his eye.
"Look here!" he thundered suddenly, interrupting Dan--"I've had enough of you!" The couple stopped, astonished, and Sal cried, "DAD!" But Dad was hot. "Out of this!" (placing his hand on Dan, and shoving him). "You've loafed long enough on me! Off y' go t' th' devil!"
Dan went over to Anderson's and Anderson took him in and kept him a week. Then Dan took Anderson down at a new game of cards, and went away West again.
Chapter XV.
Our Circus.
Dave had been to town and came home full of circus. He sat on the ground beside the tubs while Mother and Sal were washing, and raved about the riding and the tumbling he had seen. He talked enthusiastically to Joe about it every day for three weeks. Dave rose very high in Joe's estimation.
Raining. All of us inside. Sal on the sofa playing the concertina; Dad squatting on the edge of a flat stone at the corner of the fireplace; Dave on another opposite; both gazing into the fire, which was almost out, and listening intently to the music; the dog, dripping wet, coiled at their feet, shivering; Mother sitting dreamily at the table, her palm pressed against her cheek, also enjoying the music.
Sal played on until the concertina broke. Then there was a silence.
For a while Dave played with a piece of charcoal. At last he spoke.
"Well," he said, looking at Dad, "what about this circus?"
Dad chuckled.
"But what d' y' THINK?"
"Well" (Dad paused), "yes" (chuckled again)--"very well."
"A CIRCUS!" Sal put in--"a PRETTY circus YOUS'D have!"
Dave fired up.
"YOU go and ride the red heifer, strad-legs, same as y' did yesterday," he snarled, "an' let all the country see y'."
Sal blushed.
Then to Dad:
"I'm certain, with Paddy Maloney in it, we could do it right enough, and make it pay, too."
"Very well, then," said Dad, "very well. There's th' tarpaulin there, and plenty bales and old bags whenever you're ready."
Dave was delighted, and he and Dad and Joe ran out to see where the tent could be pitched, and ran in again wetter than the dog.
One day a circus-tent went up in our yard. It attracted a lot of notice. Two of the Johnsons and old Anderson and others rode in on draught-horses and inspected it. And Smith's spring-cart horse, that used to be driven by every day, stopped in the middle of the lane and stared at it; and, when Smith stood up and belted him with the double of the reins, he bolted and upset the cart over a stump. It was n't a very white tent. It was made of bags and green bushes, and Dad and Dave and Paddy Maloney were two days putting it up.
We all assisted in the preparations for the circus. Dad built seats out of forked sticks and slabs, and Joe gathered jam-tins which Mother filled with fat and moleskin wicks to light up with.
Everyone in the district knew about our circus, and longed for the opening night. It came. A large fire near the slip-rails, shining across the lane and lighting up a corner of the wheat-paddock, showed the way in.
Dad stood at the door to take the money. The Andersons--eleven of them--arrived first. They did n't walk straight in. They hung about for a while. Then Anderson sidled up to Dad and talked into his ear. "Oh! that's all right,"
Somehow, Dad began to hate Dan! He scarcely ever spoke to him now, and at meal-times never spoke to any of us. Dad was a hard man to understand. We could n't understand him. "And with DAN at home, too!" Sal used to whine. Sal verily idolised Dan. Hero-worship was strong in Sal.
One night Dad came in for supper rather later than usual. He'd had a hard day, and was done up. To make matters worse, when he was taking the collar off Captain the brute tramped heavily on his toe, and took the nail off. Supper was n't ready. The dining-room was engaged. Dan was showing Sal how the Prince of Wales schottische was danced in the huts Out Back. For music, Sal was humming, and the two were flying about the room. Dad stood at the door and looked on, with blood in his eye.
"Look here!" he thundered suddenly, interrupting Dan--"I've had enough of you!" The couple stopped, astonished, and Sal cried, "DAD!" But Dad was hot. "Out of this!" (placing his hand on Dan, and shoving him). "You've loafed long enough on me! Off y' go t' th' devil!"
Dan went over to Anderson's and Anderson took him in and kept him a week. Then Dan took Anderson down at a new game of cards, and went away West again.
Chapter XV.
Our Circus.
Dave had been to town and came home full of circus. He sat on the ground beside the tubs while Mother and Sal were washing, and raved about the riding and the tumbling he had seen. He talked enthusiastically to Joe about it every day for three weeks. Dave rose very high in Joe's estimation.
Raining. All of us inside. Sal on the sofa playing the concertina; Dad squatting on the edge of a flat stone at the corner of the fireplace; Dave on another opposite; both gazing into the fire, which was almost out, and listening intently to the music; the dog, dripping wet, coiled at their feet, shivering; Mother sitting dreamily at the table, her palm pressed against her cheek, also enjoying the music.
Sal played on until the concertina broke. Then there was a silence.
For a while Dave played with a piece of charcoal. At last he spoke.
"Well," he said, looking at Dad, "what about this circus?"
Dad chuckled.
"But what d' y' THINK?"
"Well" (Dad paused), "yes" (chuckled again)--"very well."
"A CIRCUS!" Sal put in--"a PRETTY circus YOUS'D have!"
Dave fired up.
"YOU go and ride the red heifer, strad-legs, same as y' did yesterday," he snarled, "an' let all the country see y'."
Sal blushed.
Then to Dad:
"I'm certain, with Paddy Maloney in it, we could do it right enough, and make it pay, too."
"Very well, then," said Dad, "very well. There's th' tarpaulin there, and plenty bales and old bags whenever you're ready."
Dave was delighted, and he and Dad and Joe ran out to see where the tent could be pitched, and ran in again wetter than the dog.
One day a circus-tent went up in our yard. It attracted a lot of notice. Two of the Johnsons and old Anderson and others rode in on draught-horses and inspected it. And Smith's spring-cart horse, that used to be driven by every day, stopped in the middle of the lane and stared at it; and, when Smith stood up and belted him with the double of the reins, he bolted and upset the cart over a stump. It was n't a very white tent. It was made of bags and green bushes, and Dad and Dave and Paddy Maloney were two days putting it up.
We all assisted in the preparations for the circus. Dad built seats out of forked sticks and slabs, and Joe gathered jam-tins which Mother filled with fat and moleskin wicks to light up with.
Everyone in the district knew about our circus, and longed for the opening night. It came. A large fire near the slip-rails, shining across the lane and lighting up a corner of the wheat-paddock, showed the way in.
Dad stood at the door to take the money. The Andersons--eleven of them--arrived first. They did n't walk straight in. They hung about for a while. Then Anderson sidled up to Dad and talked into his ear. "Oh! that's all right,"