THE END OF A SHOW
'What do you mean?'
'Go round to the side, and you'll see.'
The old man went round, and by the light of two wax matches caught a glimpse of part of the rough painting on the side of the caravan. The matches dropped from his hand. He came back, and sat down on the steps of the caravan.
'You are not like that,' he said.
'No, worse. I'm not dressed in pretty clothes, and lying on a crimson velvet couch. I'm half naked, in a corner of this cursed box, and crying because my owner beat me. Now go, or I'll open the door and show myself to you as I am now. It would frighten you; it would haunt your sleep.'
'Nothing frightens me. I was a fool once, but I have never been frightened. What right has this owner over you?'
'He is my father,' the voice screamed loudly; then there was more weeping; then it spoke again:
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