Mrs. Noxon turned from them to the dispersing nymphs of Miss Silsby's troupe. The nymphs were dressed in the fashion of 916 B.C. They also were laughing and snickering, as they sauntered toward the clump of trees and shrubs which masked their dressing-tent. One of them was not laughing--Kedzie. She was slinking along in wet clothes and doused pride. The beautiful wrap that Mrs. Charity Cheever had flung about her she had let fall and drag in a damp mess. Mrs. Noxon was tempted to hobble after Kedzie and smack her for her outrageous mishap. But she could not afford the luxury. She must laugh with her guests. She marched after them to take her medicine of raillery more or less concealed as they went to look at the other sideshows and permit themselves to be robbed handsomely for charity. Kedzie was afraid to meet Miss Silsby, but there was no escape. The moment the shrubs closed behind her she fell into the ambush. Miss Silsby was shrill with rage and scarlet in the face. She swore, and she looked as if she would scratch. “You miserable little fool!” she began. “You ought to be whipped within an inch of your life. You have ruined me! It was the biggest chance of my career. I should have been a made woman if it hadn't been for you. Now I shall be the joke of the world!” “Please, Miss Silsby,” Kedzie protested, “if you please, Miss Silsby--I didn't mean to fall into the water. I'm as sorry as I can be.” “What good does it do me for you to be sorry? I'm the one to be sorry. I should think you would have had more sense than to do such a thing!” “How could I help it, dog on it!” Kedzie retorted, her anger recrudescent. “Help it? Are you a dancer or are you a cow?” Kedzie quivered as if she had been lashed. She struck back with her best Nimrim repartee, “You're a nice one to call me a cow, you big, fat, old lummox!” Miss Silsby fairly mooed at this. “You--you insolent little rat, you! You--oh, you--you! I'll never let you dance for me again--never!” “I'd better resign, then, I suppose,” said Kedzie. “Resign? How dare you resign! You're fired! That's how you'll resign. You're fired! The impudence of her! She turns my life-work into a laughing-stock and then says she'd better resign!” “How about to-night?” Kedzie put in, dazed. “Never you mind about to-night. I'll get along without you if I have to dance myself.” The other nymphs shook under this, like corn-stalks in a wind. But Kedzie was a statuette of pathos. She stood cowering barelegged before Miss Silsby, fully clothed in everything but her right mind. There was nothing Grecian about Miss Silsby except the Medusa glare, and that turned Kedzie into stone. She finished her tirade by thrusting some money into Kedzie's hand and clamoring: “Get into your clothes and get out of my sight.”