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Updated: May 22, 2025
The window-boxes, from basement to garret; the way the curtains hung in rigid complaisance; the significant name-plate on the middle panel of the door: "Joseph Grinaldi, Esq."; the minute plot of grass alongside the steps that led to the basement, with a treasured rose-bush in the corner thereof.
After it became definitely known to Simms that Blake was back in Richmond with his assistant, David was permitted to emerge gradually from his seclusion. The first thing he did was to go with Joey Grinaldi to a savings bank where, under the name of John Snipe, he deposited two thousand dollars, retaining five hundred for emergencies.
His grandfather, you remember " She drew back; her eyes dilated, her lips stiff. "You are the Jenison boy?" she said slowly, even unbelievingly. "The one who killed his grandfa " "But I didn't do it!" he almost wailed. "You you must believe me, ma'am. I didn't do it!" He stood before her, looking straight into her eyes. "No, Mrs. Braddock," said Grinaldi, "he didn't do it."
Braddock crossed over to them, smiling. It was not until she opened her lips to speak of the compliment his appetite had paid to the cook tent that she perceived the look in his eyes. Then she glanced at the serious face of the clown. "This 'ere chap, ma'am," said Grinaldi, in low, level tones, "is David Jenison, the boy wanted for that murder near Richmond last week. You've seen the reward bills.
Grinaldi, who had been deep in thought, suddenly slapped his knee and uttered a cackle of satisfaction. "I've got it! We'll pull the wool over their eyes, by Jinks! Follow me, boy, and do just wot I tells you. I'm I'm going to take you into the ring with me. By Jupiter, they won't think of looking for you there."
Braddock looked at David, an abject appeal in her eyes. He smiled blandly and lied nobly, like a true Virginia gentleman. "No, Miss Braddock. Instead of that, he has hired me to go with the show." "Oh, I am so glad," she cried. "I knew he would not take your money." David swallowed hard; and then, fearing to speak again or to meet her radiant eyes, he hastened after Grinaldi.
While the marshal, in some trepidation, regained his grip on the prisoner's arm, the crowd of performers looked at the picture with broad grins on their faces. "Wash up, Jacky," said Grinaldi, stifling a laugh. "Let the rubes see what you really look like," added Signor Anaconda. Dick Cronk proceeded to scrub away the make-up.
He knew that something was going cruelly wrong with his friend and supporter, but what it was he could not even venture a guess, knowing so little about the people and conditions attached to his new world. "So, he's 'ere again, is he?" He whirled quickly to find Grinaldi peering over his shoulder, his erstwhile merry face as black as a thunder cloud. "Who is he?" demanded David.
"Why did he strike me?" again fell from the lips of the fugitive. At this moment Grinaldi came hurrying in from the ring. He took in the situation at a glance. Behind him, peering over his shoulder, was a black-haired young woman in pink tights and spangled trunks.
Saving the snowy whiteness of his hair, Grinaldi did not appear to be an hour older than in the days of Van Slye's. His merry, wrinkled face was as ruddy, as keen, as healthy as it ever had been. No one would have called him sixty-five, and yet he was beyond that in years. "He's 'ere for no good purpose, I'm afraid," said he, at last. "In a way, I'm kind o' sorry for Brad, David.
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