Horace had given over the red coat and hat (but not the dust on his face) to the circus men, and he arrived excited and dishevelled at his uncle's house. He left us at the gate, but we paused an instant, for Mrs. Vincent stood on the veranda to welcome him. "I want dinner right away, Aunt, 'cos I've got to get back to the circus by one o'clock, an'--" "Horace Winslow, you come into the house this instant, and take off every stitch, and get into the bath-tub. Look at your face! Get up to the bath-room, quick! The tub is all filled--" "Oh, Aunt, I can't stop to fool with taking baths,--I want dinner, 'cos I've got to get back there at one o'clock." "Get back there indeed! Not one step out of this house do you go this afternoon. Take off your jacket before you come into the house,--did you have it on under that horrible red thing? Give it to me,--it's going to be burned up as quick as I can do it. Quick!" "Oh, Aunt, I've promised the zebra trainer to be back there,--why they're dependin' on me! I've got--" "Not one step! Do you hear? Now, upstairs with you, and into that bath-tub!" Horace vanished into the house, followed by his aunt. Ed Mason and I looked disconsolately at each other, and started wearily toward our homes. If any one's influence were going to admit us to the circus, it was not Horace Winslow's. In the parade he had flashed before our eyes like a rocket, and his descent from glory had been as sudden as the stick. He had declined in power; from a magnificent zebra leader he had become an insignificant atom in a bath-tub. Even before we were out of hearing he uttered a loud howl. And this was followed by a monitory voice:-- "_Horace!_" CHAPTER XII SUSY We passed the afternoon gloomily. There seemed to be no use in returning to the circus field without the once influential Horace. Except for him, we appeared to be almost the only persons who had not gone to the circus. Horace, we presumed, would have to spend the whole afternoon in that bath-tub. We could imagine his misery. The hours wore on, somehow, and about five o'clock the fortunate ones began to return. We saw a group of them go into the Carters' side yard, and so Ed and I strolled over there to increase our suffering by hearing them recount what they had seen. Seven or eight boys and girls were sitting on the steps of the veranda. Both the Carters were there, and Harry Fletcher, Susy and Minnie Kittredge, Ed Mason's sister Florence, and one or two others. Flossie Mason, being fifteen and grown up, had not been to the afternoon performance,--she was going in the evening with her mother. The eyes of all of them were still wide open, for in their vision mingled strange animals, galloping horses, and tumbling clowns, while the fascinating odors of trampled grass, freshly turned earth, sawdust, pop-corn, and rubber balloons lingered in their nostrils. Susy Kittredge, of course, was talking. She was beginning, in retrospect, her tour of the tents.