“Not if the Big Boss took you under his wing,” Eddie reassured her. “In the carnival the Big Boss is the law. I’ll speak to him myself.” The carnival roustabouts—big, rough-looking, powerful negroes in undershirts and soiled, nondescript trousers—eyed the trio curiously as they passed from one tent to another, Eddie gesticulating like a Cook’s Tour conductor. “Jees, Sally, I never expected to see any of you kids again,” Eddie interrupted his monologue, which was like Greek to his guests. “Have you ever been sorry you ran away, Eddie?” Sally asked, wistfully desiring reassurance, for it was still impossible for her to picture life independent of state charity. Eddie snorted. “I’ve been seeing life, I have. New York and Chi and San Looey and all the big towns. But I reckon it’s easier for a boy. I never did want to go back, but I’ve thought many a time I’d like to see some of the kids.” He blushed crimson under his big freckles. “How—how’s Ruby, Sally? You know—Ruby Presser? She still there? She must be seventeen now. She was two years younger’n me. I sorta figger on marryin’ Ruby one of these days—say, what’s the matter?” he broke off abruptly. “Ruby—Ruby’s dead, Eddie. Didn’t you read about it in the papers?” “Ruby—dead? You—you ain’t kiddin’ me, Sally? Ruby—dead!” Sally’s distressed blue eyes fluttered to David’s face as if for help. “Ruby—fell—out of a fifth story window, Eddie—last September,” Sally admitted in a choked voice. “After she had spent the summer on the Carson farm, Eddie,” David broke in quietly, significantly. Sally closed her eyes so as not to see the conflict of rage and grief in Eddie Cobb’s boyish face. “I hope to God you did kill him, David!” Eddie burst out at last. “If you didn’t, I’ll finish him!” “What’s all this, Eddie?” a great bellow brought them all to startled attention. “Old home week? Get to your work! Lucky’s howling for you. Who the hell do you think’s going to set out the dolls?” Eddie’s importance was suddenly shattered. The big man, who seemed to Sally to be as tall as the giant whom he advertised as a star attraction, came striding across the stubby, dusty lot. His enormous head, topped with a wide-brimmed black felt hat in defiance of the torrid June weather, showed a fringe of long-curling white hair which reached almost to the shoulders of his Prince Albert coat. “I’d like to speak to you a minute, sir,” Eddie urged. After another frowning, considering up-and-down glance at David and Sally, but particularly at Sally, the big man strode away with Eddie, out of earshot. “If the big man does take us, you won’t be sorry, will you, David?” Sally whispered, clinging to David’s hand. “Dear little Sally!” David drew her close against him for a moment. They stood close to each other, Sally not caring if the interview between Bybee and Eddie prolonged itself interminably, for David was there, thinking—she could feel his thoughts—“Dear little Sally”—