THE END OF A SHOW
He interrupted her in a dry, distinct voice:
'Woman, I never yet did anyone a kindness, not even myself.'
However, a friend pushed some money into her hand, and she bought two boxes.
*****
It was past twelve o'clock now. The flaring lights were out in the little group of caravans on the waste ground. The tired proprietors of the shows were asleep. The gravestones in the churchyard were glimmering white in the bright moonlight. But at the entrance to that little canvas booth the quack doctor sat on one of his boxes, smoking a clay pipe. He had taken off the dressing-gown, and was in his shirt-sleeves; his clothes were black, much worn. His attention was arrested—he thought that he heard the sound of sobbing.
'It's a God-forsaken world,' he said aloud. After a second's silence he spoke again. 'No, I never did
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