Circus -- Juvenile fiction; Fantasy fiction; Mermaids -- Juvenile fiction; War -- Juvenile fiction
The coconut-shy was not what it used to be either. Once one threw
sticks, three shies a penny. Now it is a penny a shy, with light wooden
balls. You can win a coconut if you happen to hit one that is not glued
onto its support. If you really wish to win one of these unkindly
fruits it is well to stand and watch a little and not to aim at those
coconuts which, when they are hit, fail to fall off the sticks. Are
they glued on? One hopes not. But if they are, who can wonder or
reprove? It is hard to get a living, anyhow.
There was one thing, though, that roused the children’s
resentment—chiefly, I think, because its owners were clean and did not
look half-starved, so there was no barrier of pity between them and
dislike—a sort of round table sloping up to its center. On this small
objects were arranged. For a penny you received two hoops. If you could
throw a hoop over an object that object was yours. None of the rustic
visitors to the fair could, it seemed, or cared to. It did not look
difficult, however. Nor was it. At the first shot a tiny candlestick
was encircled. Between pride and shame Mavis held out a hand.
“Hard luck,” said one of the two young women, too clean to be pitied.
“Has to go flat on—see?”
Francis tried again. This time the ring encircled a matchbox, “flat on.”
“Hard luck,” said the lady again.
“What’s the matter now?” the children asked, baffled.
“Hoop has to be red side up,” said she. So she scored. Now they went
to the other side and had another penn’orth of hoops from the other
too clean young woman. And the same thing happened. Only on the second
winning she said:
“Hard luck. Hoops have to be blue side up.”
It was Bernard’s blood that was up. He determined to clear the board.
“Blue side up, is it,” he said sternly, and took another penn’orth.
This time he brought down a tin pin tray and a little box which, I
hope, contained something. The girl hesitated and then handed over the
prizes. “Another penn’orth of hoops,” said Bernard, warming to the work.
“Hard luck,” said she. “We don’t give more than two penn’orth to any
one party.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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