JIM was slow to-night. The big show was nearly over, yet many of the props used in the early part of the bill were still unloaded. He was tinkering absent-mindedly with one of the wagons in the back lot, and the men were standing about idly, waiting for orders, when Barker came out of the main tent and called to him sharply: “Hey, there, Jim! What's your excuse to-night?” “Excuse for what?” Jim crossed slowly to Barker. “The cook tent was started half an hour late, and the side show top ain't loaded yet.” “Your wagons is on the bum, that's what! Number thirty-eight carries the cook tent and the blacksmith has been tinkering with it all day. Ask HIM what shape it's in.” “You're always stallin',” was Barker's sullen complaint. “It's the wagons, or the black-smiths, or anything but the truth. _I_ know what's the matter, all right.” “What do you mean by that?” asked Jim, sharply. “I mean that all your time's took up a-carryin' and a-fetchin' for that girl what calls you 'Muvver Jim.'” “What have yer got to say about her?” Jim eyed him with a threatening look. “I got a-plenty,” said Barker, as he turned to snap his whip at the small boys who had stolen into the back lot to peek under the rear edge of the “big top.” “She's been about as much good as a sick cat since she come back. You saw her act last night.” “Yes,” answered Jim, doggedly. “Wasn't it punk? She didn't show at ALL this afternoon--said she was sick. And me with all them people inside what knowed her, waitin' ter see 'er.” “Give her a little time,” Jim pleaded. “She ain't rode for a year.” “Time!” shouted Barker. “How much does she want? She's been back a month and instead o' bracin' up, she's a-gettin' worse. There's only one thing for me to do.” “What's that?” asked Jim, uneasily. “I'm goin' ter call her, and call her hard.” “Look here, Barker,” and Jim squared his shoulders as he looked steadily at the other man; “you're boss here, and I takes orders from you, but if I catches you abusin' Poll, your bein' boss won't make no difference.” “You can't bluff me,” shouted Barker. “I ain't bluffin'; I'm only TELLIN' yer,” said Jim, very quietly. “Well, you TELL her to get onto her job. If she don't she quits, that's all.” He hurried into the ring. Jim took one step to follow him, then stopped and gazed at the ground with thoughtful eyes. He, too, had seen the change in Polly. He had tried to rouse her; it was no use. She had looked at him blankly. “If she would only complain,” he said to himself. “If she would only get mad, anything, anything to wake her.” But she did not complain. She went through her daily routine very humbly and quietly. She sometimes wondered how Jim could talk so much about her work, but before she could answer the question, her mind drifted back to other days, to a garden and flowers, and Jim stole away unmissed, and left her with folded hands and wide, staring eyes, gazing into the distance.