Her mother was a slack-wire performer in the circus, and Patty was born in that part of the dressing-room reserved for the feminine talent, the privacy of which was a pleasant piece of fiction due to the strip of canvas that “Old Props” stretched across the tent in the centre. Immediately behind the “wall” the male performers struggled into pink tights, smoked cigarettes and streaked the air with loud-mouthed oaths, regardless of the proximity of the ladies, whose own language, to tell the truth, was none too choice.

Patty came into the world somewhat unexpectedly. Her parent, the only one she ever knew, had been seized with a sudden dizziness right in the middle of her great balancing act and had fallen heavily in the ring, from which she was tenderly carried to the ladies’ dressing-room, where, two hours later, on a hastily improvised bed of elephant trappings, camel coverings and spangled suits, snatched from the property wardrobe, a little mite of humanity was ushered into the world amid the roaring of the lions, the hoarse bleat of the hippopotamus, and the savage trumpetings of the elephants in the menagerie adjoining.

[3]

From her birth Patty was a great favorite with Old Props, who, in the absence of a legitimate father, constituted himself the male protector of the petite girl baby, whose tiny fingers toyed carelessly with the grizzled, brick-dusty beard of the gruff circus man whenever he took her in his arms. For Patty was raised with the circus. When she was two weeks old her mother resumed her “act” on the slack wire and from that time until her death, which occurred when Patty was ten years old, the little girl lived almost continuously in the atmosphere of the sawdust ring.

“OLD PROPS.”

Patty was a veritable daughter of the arena. At a very tender age she had been taught to balance herself on the back of a horse, and when her mother died her education in bareback riding had so far progressed that she was billed as an infant prodigy, and was the source of endless entertainment to the youngsters of every town visited by the circus. Old Props was her guardian, a duty that he had willingly assumed when Patty’s mother died, leaving her daughter to his care. It must be confessed that Patty’s education in the polite arts was sadly neglected. Her grammar was atrocious, and her knowledge of things in general, not germane to the circus, was deplorably slim. But her professional studies were pursued with so much earnestness and avidity that[4] before she was in her teens her daring riding produced a genuine sensation, and the advent of “Mdle. Patti,” as she was known to the public, was always the signal for a burst of applause, to which the young equestrienne responded with one of her most bewitching smiles.

Although fully up to the latest slang phrases, Patty was by no means vicious, and only reflected what she had imbibed, since as a tiny toddler of three she had been lifted on the trick pony’s back by careful Old Props and jogged around the track, her merry eyes ablaze with delight, her baby voice echoing the Hi! Ya! Hi! Ya! of the property boys who clustered around the ring. In spite of her surroundings Patty’s mind was remarkably pure. The coarse jokes of the men and the covert allusions of the women seemed to leave no taint in their wake, while her naive expressions were a constant delight to Old Props, who secretly exulted in the innocence of his protegee and jealously guarded her from the insidious advances of those in whom the baser passions were uppermost.

Patty was sui generis. Of the world beyond the circus she was totally ignorant. If she had a passion it was for gay dresses and stunning jewelry, while the “bravas,” elicited from an admiring audience, was the sweetest music that her ears ever knew. At the age of seventeen she was a[5] strikingly beautiful girl, overflowing with animal spirits and enjoying perfect health, a robust young goddess to whom all the other sawdust subjects paid homage. Hers was a beauty that lacked soul, however. Patty, poor girl, had never known the refining influences of a home and the effect of her environment was potent to the close observer. Love was something foreign to her nature; that is the love born of a tender passion. For Old Props she possessed a strong sense of gratitude and a sort of filial affection, but for the genuine article she seemed to be incapable of its entertainment.

When Patty was eighteen the circus to which she was attached arranged for a tour of the Australian continent, and at San Francisco the “main guy” engaged a lot of fresh talent, some of the old-timers not relishing the salt water voyage. Several of these new performers were adepts in their particular lines, and one was especially so, as Old Props had bitter cause to remember. The circus showed all through New Zealand with remarkable financial success and Patty won unbounded honors from the colonials, and was, besides, the life of the troupe. It was at this period—perhaps the semi-tropical climate was partially responsible for it—that Patty was the recipient of numerous proposals for her hand, both from within and without the circus. But each new suitor[6] was received in much the same manner. A merry laugh spoiled all their sentimental speeches; they were referred to the ringmaster; she excused herself on the plea of practising a new jig-step for the side-show, or with the utmost unconcern declined the offer and went on feeding the monkeys in the menagerie as if nothing unusual had happened to disturb her tranquility. On one occasion when Old Props was leading her horse around the ring while the clown was working the risibilities of the audience she received a most impassioned proposal from one of the balloon holders who was assisting her in her “act” and near whom the horse was halted just as the clown reached the climax of his joke. The offer came during the yelling of the delighted colonials, the sharp snapping of the ring-master’s whip and the eccentric tumbling of the professional joker, but for all that it was a fervid appeal. Yet her sole answer was a derisive laugh as she spurred on her horse with a “Hi! ya,” and the next minute she was jumping, not into her suitor’s arms, but through the paper balloon he held outstretched in his hand.

But Patty’s days of freedom were rapidly diminishing, and before the troupe reached Melbourne Old Props made a discovery that rendered him very uneasy. At San Francisco the management had engaged among others a handsome[8] dashing young Apollo of perhaps twenty-five, who was a perfect prodigy in his way. He was considered the cleverest leaper, the most skillful rider, and the best all-round man in the troupe, and to crown all, he possessed a college education, having, it is said, been graduated at Harvard. His specialty was riding four horses bareback, and owing to his prowess and fine presence he was soon styled the “Adonis of the arena.”

It was not until the circus had unloaded at Auckland, N. Z., and had toured through the middle island that Patty seemed cognizant of the young fellow’s varied attractions, but before long she began to manifest in many ways her approval of his society, much to the dismay of her guardian, who scented trouble from the outset. The young Adonis of the ring was quick to discover the interest he had awakened, and deliberately applied himself to the task of winning Patty’s affections. By a hundred delicate attentions and insinuating ways, such as Patty, poor child, had never known in her previous career, he paved his way into her good graces and aroused in her that feeling which lies latent in the soul of every maiden, but which few would have supposed Patty possessed.

It was to this heartless scamp that Patty unreservedly lost her heart. To the warnings of Old[9] Props, who, better versed in human nature, penetrated her lover’s evil designs, the girl returned an indignant protest, and for a time there was a coolness between the two that grieved the old property man sorely. Those whom Patty had snubbed now began to take a mean revenge by sneeringly alluding to her love affair and hinting that all was not as it should be. Their remarks when made in the hearing of Old Props drove him nearly frantic, and for several weeks he was so ugly and crabbled that he was unbearable and even the main guy was compelled to reprimand him for his surliness. As the affair progressed Patty gradually lost all interest in her former amusements, and even her little pet monkey in the menagerie was wholly neglected. Instead of lingering before his cage to pet and caress him as was her wont, she now hurried by to meet her lover, utterly oblivious of the tiny outstretched paw or head cunningly askew waiting for its accustomed caress. Poor “Mimi,” like Old Props, was forgotten.

That grizzled veteran knew too well how it would end. As the weeks grew into months, and the foreign tour was drawing to a close, Old Props, who watched Patty closer than any mother would her child, saw with poignant regret how changed the girl had become. Seldom was heard the old,[10] mellow, ringing laugh that was wont to cheer his seared and toughened heart, and the former jaunty step and vivacious air had completely vanished. Yet to her guardian, who ached to receive her confidence, Patty never vouchsafed a word.

It was at Wagga Wagga, in Australia, noted as the residence of the once-famous Tichborne claimant, that Patty was taken ill, caused by over-exertion in the ring, and a doctor who was called imperatively forbade her proceeding any further. The circus was then on its way to Sydney from Melbourne, overland, and as the vessel on which the return journey was to be made was due to sail on a certain day the management was compelled to leave Patty behind to follow on later. With the circus went the contemptible wretch who was the cause of her undoing, and when Old Props, who remained to take care of his darling, told poor Patty of the fellow’s heartlessness, she gave a great gulp and then hid her face on the old man’s breast and cried as she had never cried before. Her whole pitiful story was unfolded in that bitter, heartbroken wail.

Patty was very ill for many weeks, during which time Old Props was her sole and constant attendant. But the girl never rallied, and when her baby was born, long after the circus was back in[12] the States, she had barely strength left to turn her head to gaze at the innocent mite. It was a poor, weak, sick specimen, that lived for a few days only, and then its light went quietly out with scarcely a perceptible struggle. There were no tears in Patty’s eyes when her dead baby was lifted to her face by the kind sister to receive a farewell kiss, but when Old Props returned from the sad task of laying the little one away he was alarmed at the ghastly change in Patty’s pinched, wasted features, and realized that in a few days at the farthest she would rejoin her babe.

THE DEATH-BED.

Poor, ignorant little Patty! Surely her sin will not be visited on her head in the great hereafter, but rather on the one who deliberately led her to ruin. She lies in the quiet little cemetery adjoining the English church at Wagga Wagga, in the same grave with her baby, a plain white stone erected by her heartbroken guardian marking the spot where she is at rest. As for Old Props, he will never go out with the red wagon again.

“Sometimes,” sighed the man who is wedded to a woman with a mind of her own, “I think my wife must take me for a pneumatic tire, the way she is blowing me up all the time.”—Boston Transcript.

Judge—Your age?

Lady—Thirty years.

Judge (incredulously)—You will have some difficulty in proving that.

Lady (excitedly)—You’ll find hard to prove the contrary, as the church register which contained the entry of my name was burned in the year 1845.

The little boy was crying and his tears touched the heart of the charitably inclined lady; he was so small and seemed to be in such distress.

“Don’t cry, little boy,” she said, soothingly. “Dry your eyes and tell me what the trouble is. Did some of the big boys hurt you?”

“No’m,” replied the waif, still sobbing.

“Are you sick or hungry?” she persisted.

“No’m.”

“Did your father beat you for something?”

“No’m, but he will.”

“Oh, that’s the trouble, is it?”

“Yes’m.”

“Well, it’s a shame,” she exclaimed, angrily. “Why will he beat you?”

“’Cause I lost ten cents.”

“Did he send you to buy something with it?”

[14]

“Yes’m.”

“And you lost it on the way?”

“Yes’m.”

“Oh, well, I guess we can fix that,” she said in her kindly way, as she took a dime from her purse and handed it to the boy. “Now he won’t beat you, will he?”

“No’m.”

“What did he send you to buy with it?”

“Beer.”

“Beer!” The good lady gasped at the thought.

“Yes’m.”

“And how did you lose it?”

“Matchin’ pennies.”

Before she had sufficiently recovered to demand the return of her dime the boy was gone.

The man with his coat collar turned up and his hat pulled down over his eyes, who was slouching alone in the shadow of the buildings, suddenly beckoned to the man on the other side of the street.

“Here’s a graft, Bill,” he said when the other had crossed over.

“Wot is?” asked Bill, gruffly.

“This here house,” replied the first speaker. “It’s just like finding things all fixed for you.[15] Some bloomin’ idiot has gone away and left his latchkey in the door.”

Bill took a long look at the house and then shook his head.

“You kin have it,” he said. “I don’t want nuthin’ to do with the game.”

“Wot’s the matter?”

“The feller wot lives here ain’t to be trusted. He’s a low-down, mean, tricky cuss. He ain’t got no feelin’s at all.”

“D’ye know him?”

“No; but I was here onct before, an’ I’m onto his game. He left the key just like that before, an’ I thought it was dead easy. I went up and tried to turn it, an’ I thought I was bein’ electrocuted sure.”

Teacher (to class in philosophy)—What are the properties of heat, Willie?

Willie—The properties of heat are to bake, cook, roast——

Teacher—Stop—next. What are the properties of heat?

Johnny—The properties of heat is that it expands bodies, while cold contracts them.

Teacher—Very good. Can you give me an example?

[16]

Johnny—Yes, sir. In summer, when it is very hot, the day is long; in winter, when it is cold, it gets to be very short.

Tramp—Yes’m, it’s hard to break away from all yer bad habits at once; but I’ve given up some of ’em.

Lady—Which ones have you given up?

Tramp—Well, mum, I don’t get shaved on Sunday any more.

We will give either a $2.00 gold ring or a dozen silver spoons to any person who sells a dollar’s worth of our standard goods. They are needed in every household and we will send you the outfit when you send us your name and address. After you have sold the goods, send us the dollar and receive your gift. This is an honest offer for honest people only. Address Rex Company, 1111 Arch St., Philadelphia, Pa.

Ladies who have superfluous hair will be happy to know that I have a quick and sure remedy; doesn’t leave the slightest trace, nor injure the skin. I will send (securely sealed) a $1.00 bottle Free to a few ladies in each locality. Write to Mrs. J. De Vere, P. O. Box 494, Philadelphia, Pa.