omful of people. Suddenly, he heaved forward,
pushing those nearest him violently toward the door.

"Get out of here!" he bellowed hoarsely. "Get out, curse you, d'ye
hear! Get out!"

There were men in that little crowd, men besides the three or four
women, Mrs. MacAloon amongst them; men not reckoned overfaint of spirit
in Big Cloud by those who knew, but _they_ knew Flannagan, and they
went--went, half carrying, half dragging the ringmaster, oiled and
perfumed now in a fashion grimly different than before.

"Get out!" roared Flannagan again to hurry them, and, as the last one
disappeared, he whirled on Daisy. "And you, too!" he snarled. "Get
out!"

Terrified, shaken by the scene as she was, his words, their
implication, their injustice, whipped her into scorn and anger.
White-lipped, she stared at him for an instant.

"You dare," she burst out, "you dare to----"

"_Get out!_" Flannagan's voice in his passion was a thick, stumbling,
guttural whisper. "Get out! Go back to your circus--go where you
like! Get out!" His hand dove into his pocket, and its contents,
bills and coins, what there was of them, he flung upon the table. "Get
out--as far as all I've got will take you!"

Daisy MacQueen was proud--perhaps, though, not above the pride of other
women. The blood was hot in her cheeks; her big, brown eyes had a
light in them near to that light with which she had faced Ferraringi
but a short time before; her breath came in short, hard, little gasps.
For a full minute she did not speak--and then the words came cold as
death.

"Some day--some day, Michael Flannagan, you'll get what you deserve."

"That's what I'm gettin' now--what I deserve," he flung back; then,
halting in the doorway: "You understand, eh? Get out! I'm lettin' you
down easy. Get out of Big Cloud! Get out before I'm back. Number
Fifteen 'll be in in an hour--you'd better take her."

Flannagan stepped out on the street. A curious little group had
collected two houses down in front of Mrs. MacAloon's. Flannagan
glanced at them, muttered a curse; and then, head down between his
shoulders, clenched fists rammed in his pockets, he headed in the other
direction toward Main Street. Five minutes later, he pushed the
swinging doors of the Blazing Star open, and walked down the length of
the room to where Pete MacGuire, the proprietor, lounged across the bar.

"Pete"--he jerked out his words hoarsely--"next Tuesday's pay day--is
my f