Through the long summer
afternoon it went on: wonders of horsemanship and horsewomanship; hair-
raising exploits on wires, tight and slack; giddy tricks on the high
trapeze; feats of leaping and tumbling in the rings; while the tireless
musicians blatted inspiringly through it all, only pausing long enough to
allow that uproarious jester, the clown, to ask the ring-master what he
would do if a young lady came up and kissed him on the street, and to
exploit his hilarities during the short intervals of rest for the
athletes.
When it was over, John and Helen found themselves in the midst of a
densely packed crowd, and separated from Miss Briscoe and Lige. People
were pushing and shoving, and he saw her face grow pale. He realized with
a pang of sympathy how helpless he would feel if he were as small as she,
and at his utmost height could only see big, suffocating backs and huge
shoulders pressing down from above. He was keeping them from crowding
heavily upon her with all his strength, and a royal feeling of
protectiveness came over him. She was so little. And yet, without the
remotest hint of hardness, she gave him such a distinct impression of
poise and equilibrium, she seemed so able to meet anything that might
come, to understand it--even to laugh at it--so Americanly capable and
sure of the event, that in spite of her pale cheek he could not feel quite
so protective as he wished to feel.
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