When a speechless Jacky was taken into the central tent to sit on a narrow bench, and drink pink lemonade and eat peanuts, Eleanor was quite near him. He was unconscious of her presence--unconscious of everything! except the blare of the band, the elephants, the performing dogs--especially the poor, strained performing dogs! He never spoke once; his eyes were fixed on the rings; he didn't see his father watching him, amused and proud; still less did he see the lady who had been at his heels in the animal tent, and who now kept her mournful dark eyes on his face. When the last horse gave the last kick and trotted out through the exit, with its mysterious canvas walls, Jacky was in a daze of bliss. He sat, open-mouthed, staring at the empty, trampled sawdust. "Come along, young man!" Maurice said; "do you want to stay here all night?" "I'm going to be a circus rider," said Jacky, solemnly. It was then that the "lady" spoke to him--her voice broke twice: "Well, little boy, did you like the circus?" the lady said. She was so pale that Maurice put his hand on her arm. "Better sit down, Nelly," he said, kindly, under his breath. She shook her head. "No ... Jacky, don't you want to tell me your name?" "But you _know_ my name," said Jacky, with a bored look. Maurice gave her a warning glance, and she tried to cover her blunder: "I heard your father--I mean this gentleman--call you 'Jacky,'" she explained--panting, for Maurice's quick frown frightened her. "Here's a present for you," she said. "_Present_!" said Jacky--and made a joyous grab at the horn, which he immediately put to his lips; but before it could emit its ear-piercing screech, Maurice struck it down. "Where are your manners? Say 'Thank you' to the lady." Jacky sighed, but murmured, "'Ank you." Eleanor, her chin trembling, said: "May I kiss him?" "'Course," Maurice said, huskily. She bent down and kissed him with trembling lips--"Ach!--you make me all wet," Jacky said, frowning at her tears on his rosy cheek. Later, as Maurice pulled his reluctant son out on to the pavement, he was so moved that he almost forgot that she was still the old Eleanor; he didn't even listen to his little boy's passionate assertion that he would be a flying-trapeze man. As he walked along beside his wife to put her on the car he spoke with great tenderness: "I'll leave him at Lily's, and then I'll come right home, dear, and we'll talk things over." When he and his son got back to Maple Street, Jacky was blowing that infernal horn so that the whole neighborhood was aware of his ecstasy. Lily, waiting for them at the gate, put her hands over her ears. "My soul and body! For the land's sake, stop! Who give you that horrid thing?" "An old lady," said Jacky--and blew a shattering screech on Eleanor's horn. CHAPTER XXIX