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Updated: May 8, 2025
Public government had been as dual in its nature as good and evil, sometimes swaying to the side of one party, sometimes the other; but always, such had been traditionary influence, the best man of a party had been nominated. Then there was no talk of Weedon Moores. "Do you suppose Weedie's going on with his circus-ground rallies?" he asked. "They say not." "Who?"
"I hope not, dear," she said gravely, but with no understanding, he saw, that her pure intentions could lead her wrong. "I've heard Weedon Moore talking to the men." She gave him a look of acute interest. "Really, Jeff? Now, where?" "The old circus-ground. I heard him. And he's pulling down, Amabel. He's destroying.
But he implied, in painfully halting English, that he could not give lessons at all. Nor could any of his countrymen in Addington. Jeffrey stood upon no ceremony with him. "Why the devil," said he, "do you talk to me as if you'd begun English yesterday? You forget I've heard you translating bunkum up on the circus-ground." Andrea's eyes shone the more enchantingly. He was shameless, though.
"That was in my haste," said Jeffrey. "I can't lick him with a woman standing by. I should feel like a fool." Denny was drawing up at the circus-ground. "Well," said Madame Beattie, "you've disappointed me tremendously. That's all I can say."
This, the circus-ground was where he and the other boys had trysted in a delirious ownership of every possible "show", where they had met the East and gloated on nature's poor eccentricities. Now here he was, a man suddenly set in his purpose to deliver the old town from Weedon Moore. They couldn't suffer it, he and the rest of the street of solid mansions dating back to ancient dignities.
Pelle could have thrown himself into the sea; he was burning with desire to turn his back on it all. And then he let himself drift with the crowd from the harbor to the circus-ground. On the way he heard a few words of a conversation which made his ears burn. Two townsmen were walking ahead of him and were talking. "They say he got such a kick that he brought up blood," said the one.
Pelle could have thrown himself into the sea; he was burning with desire to turn his back on it all. And then he let himself drift with the crowd from the harbor to the circus-ground. On the way he heard a few words of a conversation which made his ears burn. Two townsmen were walking ahead of him and were talking. "They say he got such a kick that he brought up blood," said the one.
"Oh, I blame you all right," said Jeff, "but you're not a responsible person. A chap that owns a paper is." "I wish you'd met him," she said, in great enjoyment. "Where'd he go, Jeffrey? Can't we find him now?" "I suspect he went to the old circus-ground. I caught him there talking to Poles and Finns and Italians and Greeks, telling them the country was no good and they owned it."
The car ran past, and Jeff saw that the man beside Moore was the interpreter of that night at the old circus-ground. "So," he thought, "more ginger for the labouring man." He turned about and walking thoughtfully, balked of his design, reflected with distaste that grew into indignation on Moore's incredible leadership. It seemed monstrous. Here was ignorance fallen into the hands of the demagogue.
She and I drove out by chance, to hear Moore doing his stunt in the circus-ground. That began it. But now, it seems, she's got some devil's influence over Moore's gang. She's told 'em something queer about me." "She's told 'em something that makes things infernally uncomfortable for other people," said Choate bluntly.
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