"Not that kind of money for me, thank you," said Grinaldi, with a scowl that brought his painted eyebrows together. He turned on his heel and hurried into the dressing-room, unable to restrain the words that would have cut the heart of the man's wife to shreds. An attendant came in from the circus tent just as Christine Braddock emerged from the dressing-room alone. David was stuffing the purse inside the loose shirt that he wore. The girl hurried to her mother's side. "Are they going to--to take him?" she whispered fearfully. David saw the sweet, clean lips tremble. Her eyes were wide and dry with trouble. Somehow his heart swelled with a strange new emotion: he could not have ascribed it to joy, or to self-pity, or to gratitude. It was something new and pleasant and warm; a glow, a light, an uplifting. This sweet, wonderfully pretty girl was his friend! She believed in him. "No, dear," replied Mrs. Braddock, lowering her eyes in sudden humiliation. The attendant was speaking. "Mr. Braddock, that feller out at the door has got tired waitin'. He says he's comin' back yere to see you. What'll I say to 'im? He's got a warrant an' he's got some of the town marshal's men with 'im now." "I'll go out and see him right away. The boy ain't with this show." With a slow, meaning look at his wife, he turned to follow the man. Over his shoulder he called to David: "Go in there with Joey. He'll tell you where to hide if you have to. Be quick about it." He was gone. The tumblers began to pour in from the main tent. Christine clutched her mother's arm in the agony of desperation. "Did--did he take the money from--_him_?" she demanded tremulously. Mrs. Braddock looked at David, an abject appeal in her eyes. He smiled blandly and lied nobly, like a true Virginia gentleman. "No, Miss Braddock. Instead of that, he has hired me to go with the show." "Oh, I am so glad," she cried. "I knew he would not take your money." David swallowed hard; and then, fearing to speak again or to meet her radiant eyes, he hastened after Grinaldi. A moment later he was in the center of an excited, whispering group of performers, in various conditions of attire, but singularly alike in their state of mind. They were softly but impressively consigning Thomas Braddock to the most remote corner in purgatory. They plied David with questions. He reported the impatience of the officers, and Braddock's decision to protect him for the time being. "I saw them chaps out there, standin' by the menagerie doors," said the contortionist. "Spotted 'em right away, I did." A bareback rider looked in. His horse already had started for the ring. "Lay low!" he whispered. "One of the boys says they won't be put off by Brad. They're going to search the tent with the town marshal." Grinaldi, who had been deep in thought, suddenly slapped his knee and uttered a cackle of satisfaction.