Braddock appeared to ponder. "No," he said with eager finality; "not just now. I've changed my mind. I'm going to have it out with her first. Then, maybe I won't do it at all." Without another glance at the hunchback he swung off toward the dressing-tent. Ernie's scoffing laugh followed him into the shadows. It was the last straw. He was an object of derision to this thing of jibes and sneers. The flush of anger had come back into his bloated cheeks by the time he had slipped under the sidewall into the dressing-tent. A sense of loneliness struck him with the force of a blow as he paused to survey the conglomerate mass of gaudy trappings: the men, the women, the horses, the dye-scented paraphernalia of the ring. The very spangles on the costumes of these one-time friends seemed to twinkle with merriment at the sight of him; the tarletan skirts appeared to flaunt scorn in his face. There was mockery in everything. His humiliation was complete when this motley array of people disdained to greet him with the eager concern that heretofore had marked their demeanor. No one appeared to notice him, further than to offer a curt nod or to exchange sly grins with the others. Christine was in the ring. Mrs. Braddock stood over by the tattered red curtains, peering out into the "big top." He knew just where to look for her; she always stood there while her daughter was performing with old Tom Sacks. Not Tom Braddock, but all the others, noted the weary droop of her shoulders. She started violently when he came up from behind and spoke to her. "Well, how does it look without the gentleman in stripes?" he asked coarsely. "It ain't so refined, eh?" She faced him, hesitated an instant, and then said, without a trace of emotion in her voice: "Tom, do you think Colonel Grand would be willing to buy out my share in the show?" He stared. Then he laughed sardonically. "What are you givin' us? Buy out your share? I should say not. He might buy you, but not your share." "You are a beast, Tom Braddock," she said, the red mounting slowly to her pale cheek. "Why do you say that to me?" "Say, don't you suppose I know how it stands with you and him?" he retorted. "Come off, Mary. You're both trying to freeze me out. I'm on to the little game." "Don't speak so loudly," she implored, clasping her hands. "Oh, I'm not tellin' any secrets," he snarled. "It's common property. Everybody's on. I should think you'd be ashamed to look Christine in the face." "God forgive you, Tom Braddock," she cried, abject horror in her eyes. "Say, I've got to have an understanding with you," he went on ruthlessly. "I'm going to find out just how I stand in this here arrangement. Grand's taken charge of the money box. He says it's you and him against me. He's going to--" "He lies! He lies!" "Oh, let up--let up! I'm no fool." "Tom Braddock, are you--are you _accusing me?_" she cried, all a-tremble.