Red Spider, Volume 1 (of 2)Baring-Gould, S. (Sabine)
General
Red Spider, Volume 1 (of 2)
Baring-Gould, S. (Sabine)
English fiction -- 19th century
Adjoining the menagerie was another exhibition, even more pretentious.
Three men appeared before it on a platform, one with a trumpet, another
with cymbals, the third with a drum. Then forth leaped clown, harlequin
and columbine, and danced, cut jokes, and went head over heels. The
clown balanced a knife on his nose; then bang! toot, toot! clash! bang,
bang, bang! from the three instruments, working the children into the
wildest speculation. Honor had spent the money laid aside for
amusement, and could not afford to take her party in, and she would
accept no further favours from Larry.
Just then up came Charles.
’Halloo, mates! you all here!’ he shouted, elbowing his way to them.
’That is prime. I will treat you; I’ve a yellow boy,’ he spun a
half-sovereign in the air and caught it between both palms. ’Come
along, kids. I’m going to treat half a dozen young chaps as well. Shall
I stand for you, Larry?’ he asked contemptuously, ’or have the thistles
and rushes sold so well you can afford to treat yourself?’
Larry frowned. ’I see my father yonder signing to me,’ he said. ’I
must go to him.’
Then Hillary worked his way to the rear, offended at the insolence of
Charles, red in face, and vowing he would not do another kindness to the
family.
Old Nanspian was in the long-room of the ’King of Bells,’ at the window.
He had caught sight of his son, whose flowered satin waistcoat was
conspicuous, and was beckoning to him with his clay pipe; he wanted to
know whether he had bought the crockery—_vulgo_ ’cloam’—as desired, and
what he had paid for it.
’Come on, you fellows!’ called Charles to some of his companions. ’How
many are you? Six, and myself, and the two girls, that makes nine
sixpences, and the little tins at half-price makes five threepences.
Temperance is a baby and don’t count. That is all, five-and-nine;
shovel out the change, old girl, four-and-three.’
He threw down the gold coin on the table, where a gorgeous woman in red
and blue and spangles, wearing a gilt foil crown and huge earrings, was
taking money and giving greasy admission tickets. The circus was small.
The seats were one row deep, deal planks laid on trestles. Only at one
end were reserved places covered with red baize for the nobility,
gentry, and clergy, who, as a bill informed the public, greedily
patronised the show. On this occasion these benches were conspicuously
empty. The performers appeared in faded fleshings, very soiled at the
elbows and knees; the paint on the faces was laid on coarsely; the
sawdust in the ring was damp and smelt sour.
The clown cut his jests with the conductor, carried off his cap, and
received a crack of the whip. He leaped high in the air, turned a
somersault, and ran round the arena on hands and feet, peering between
his legs.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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