There was a world of confidence in the plea. Unnoticed by the boy, his mother, who had been fanning him, dropped the fan and put her apron over her face and leaned against the window-jamb, sobbing silently. The father, silent too, leaned against the fence, looking fixedly at nothing and wiping his eyes with the butt of his hand. Yes, it is possible for a man to wipe his eyes on his bare hand without seeming either grotesque or vulgar--even when the man who does it is a little inconsequential man--if his child is dying and his sight is blurred and his heart is fit to burst inside of him. The judge bent across the fence, and his face muscles were working but his voice held steady. “Well, now, Lemmy,” he said, “I'd like to do it for you the best in the world; but, you see, boy, I don't own this here circus--I don't even know the gentleman that does own it.” “His name is Silver,” supplied the sick child--“Daniel P. Silver, owner of Silver's Mammoth United Railroad Shows, Roman Hippodrome and Noah's Ark Menagerie--that's the man! I kin show you his picture on one of the showbills my paw brought home to me, and then you kin go right and find him.” “I'm afraid it wouldn't do much good if I did know him, Lemmy,” said the old judge very gently. “You see--” “But ain't you the judge at the big cote-house?” demanded the child; “and can't you put people in jail if they don't do what you tell 'em? That's what my grandpop says. He's always tellin' me stories about how you and him fought the Yankees, and he always votes for you too--my grandpop talks like he thought you could do anything. And, judge, please, sir, if you went to Mister Daniel P. Silver and told him that you was the big judge--and told him there was a little sick boy livin' right up the road a piece in a little brown house--don't you reckin he'd do it? It ain't so very far out of the way if they go down Jefferson Street--it's only a little ways Judge, you'll make 'em do it, won't you--for me?” “I'll try, boy, I'll shorely try to do what I can,” said the old judge; “but if I can't make 'em do it you won't be disappointed, will you, Lemmy?” He fumbled in his pocket. “Here's four bits for you--you tell your daddy to buy you something with it. I know your maw and daddy wouldn't want you to take money from strangers, but of course it's different with old friends like you and me. Here, you take it. And there's something else,” he went on. “I'll bet you there's one of those dagoes or somebody like that downtown with a lot of these here big toy rubber balloons--red and green and blue. You tell me which color you like the best and I'll see that it's sent right up here to you--the biggest balloon the man's got--” “I don't want any balloon,” said the little voice fretfully, “and I don't want any four bits. I want to see the grand free street parade, and the herd of elephants, and the down, and the man-eatin' tigers, and everything. I want that parade to come by this house.”