<h2 id="c11"><span class="small">CHAPTER XI</span> <br/>GOODBYE FAIR</h2>
<p>Rosemary, Florence, Jeanne and Danby
did not leave the Fair grounds at once.
Indeed they could not because of the crush.
They did turn their faces toward the exit.</p>
<p>As they pressed their way out of the dense
throngs to a spot where there was at least
space for breathing, their eyes were greeted by
strange sights.</p>
<p>Off to the right a group of thoughtless revelers
were tearing up a hedge. Some were carrying
away the shrubs as souvenirs, others
were using them as mock-weapons for beating
one another over the back.</p>
<p>From a village where imitation towers
reared themselves to the sky came cries of
laughter and screams of distress. Presently a
throng broke through the flimsy walls and
came pouring out. They had gone too far in
their vandalism. The firemen had thrown a
cooling stream of water on their heated brows.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_119">[119]</div>
<p>“They’ll have time enough to cool off now,”
Danby Force laughed.</p>
<p>“But how sad to think that those who so
often have come to this place to find beauty
and happiness should, on this last night, remain
to destroy!” There was a look of distress
on the little French girl’s face.</p>
<p>“Come!” said Danby Force, “There are some
things we must try to forget. This is one of
them. Let us always think of the great Fair
as it was in the height of its glory.”</p>
<p>As they moved on toward the Aisle of
Flags, they came to a spot that, like an eddy
in a stream, even on this night of turmoil was
at rest.</p>
<p>“Goodbye.” A boy was clasping a girl’s
hand. “Goodbye Mary. See you at the next
Fair.”</p>
<p>Jeanne knew these two a little. They had
worked side by side selling orangeade and ice
cream cones. Now it was “Goodbye until the
next Fair.”</p>
<p>“And when that comes,” she murmured,
“their hair will be gray. Goodbye until the
next Fair.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_120">[120]</div>
<p>As they passed an apparently deserted hot-dog
stand, Jeanne caught sight of a figure
crumpled up in a dark corner. A young girl,
perhaps not yet eighteen, she sat with head on
arms, silently sobbing.</p>
<p>Jeanne was gypsy enough to read that girl’s
fortune. All through the bright summer days
and on into the glorious autumn, the great
Fair had offered her means of making a living.
Perhaps she was helping to support her
parents. Who could tell? Now it was all over—the
last hot-dog sold. “Goodbye Fair,”
Jeanne whispered, swallowing hard.</p>
<p>Stepping silently back, she slipped a bit of
green paper into the girl’s hand, then disappeared
too quickly to be seen.</p>
<p>“Life must be beautiful,” she said to Danby
Force, “but how can it be, for all?”</p>
<p>“It must be increasingly beautiful for all.”
The young man’s face set in hard lines of determination.</p>
<p>Jeanne thought of the work he had done for
his own little city, thought too of those industrial
spies who threatened to destroy it all.
“I must help,” she told herself almost fiercely.
“I must do all I can. Life,” she whispered
reverently, “Life <i>must</i> be beautiful.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_121">[121]</div>
<p>As for Florence, her mind all this while was
so full of the morrow that she had little
thought for the passing hour. “Tomorrow,”
she was saying to herself, “I shall be speeding
through the air with Danby Force on my way
to a new field and fresh adventure. I am to
help the children, yes, and the grownups, of
a small city—to enjoy life. At the same time
I am to search for a spy.” She wondered in a
vague sort of way what that search would be
like and how successful she would be as a lady
detective. She was wondering still when Danby
Force said:</p>
<p>“Time for a hot drink before the clock
strikes one.”</p>
<p>“Yes. Oh yes!” Jeanne’s voice rose in sudden
eagerness. “I know the very place. It is
run by some English gypsies. At this time of
night only gypsies will be found there. But,
ah my friend, such good tea as they brew!
You never could know until you have sipped
it.”</p>
<p>“Ah, a gypsy’s den at one in the morning!
Show us the way.” And Danby hailed a taxi.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_122">[122]</div>
<p>Ten minutes later they were entering a long,
low basement room such as only Jeanne had
seen before. It was finished as the inside of
the ancient gypsy vans were finished, in a
score of bright colors, red, yellow, orange,
blue, silver and gold. There were few lights.
Some were like ancient lanterns, and some
were mere glimmering tapers. Trophies of
the hunt hung against the walls—the head of
a deer, the grinning skeleton of a wild boar’s
head.</p>
<p>There were no chairs. Instead all sat, true
gypsy fashion, on rugs. Strange rugs they
were too, woven of some heavy material and
all brightly colored.</p>
<p>In one corner a group of dark foreign looking
people in bright costumes sat smoking
long-stemmed pipes and sipping tea. A cloud
of smoke, hanging close to the ceiling, created
the illusion of low-hanging clouds and the out-of-doors.</p>
<p>“Perfect!” Danby murmured.</p>
<p>At sound of his voice, a solidly built woman,
wrapped in a bright shawl, turned to look
up at him. In her eyes was a dreamy look.
Before her on the floor were cards. On the
cards were pictures—a snake, a house, a fountain,
a lion, a mouse, a burning fire.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_123">[123]</div>
<p>“Madame Bihari!” Florence exclaimed, delighted.
“And you have the gypsy witch cards.
You shall tell my fortune, for tomorrow I am
to begin a splendid new adventure.”</p>
<p>“You shall find beauty and happiness.”
Madame smiled a glad smile. She did not look
at the cards. “You have learned a great secret.
Health, strength, sunshine, the wide out-of-doors—they
are your great joy. With these
alone anyone may find happiness. You are a
true gypsy at heart, my splendid Florence.”</p>
<p>“Thank you. That is kind.” Florence favored
her with a rare smile. “But Madame,
please, my fortune! You have never told it.”</p>
<p>“There is no need,” the gypsy woman murmured.
“It is written in your face.</p>
<p>“But sit you all down upon my rug. Order
me a good cup of black tea and you shall have
as good a fortune as I can bring you. But beware,
child! You have insisted. If the cards
turn up wrong, do not blame your poor old
Madame Bihari. It is you who shall shuffle, cut
and deal—not I.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_124">[124]</div>
<p>When tea had been brought on a silver tray,
Florence shuffled the cards, cut them with her
left hand, then placed them one by one in their
proper positions. Then Madame, bending forward,
began to study them. The four friends,
forgetting their tea, sat upon their feet, waiting
in eager expectation. Moving in from their
corner, the gypsies too watched in silence.</p>
<p>Over one who has seen them often an indescribable
spell is cast by the gypsy witch cards.
The serpent striking at some unseen object;
the eye, gleaming at you from the half darkness;
the fire leaping from the hearth; the
mouse; the clasped hands; the lightning—all
these and many others appear to take on a special
meaning. And so they do in very truth to
the teller of fortunes.</p>
<p>When at last Madame began to speak, an
audible sigh rose from the little group of
watchers.</p>
<p>“You have friends.” Her voice was low and
even as the murmur of a slow moving stream.
“Many friends. It is well, for there shall be
perils. There is one you may wish to trust,
even to love a little; but you must not, for that
one is a traitor.”</p>
<p>“The spy!” Jeanne whispered in her companion’s
ear.</p>
<p>“The spy!” Florence shuddered.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_125">[125]</div>
<p>“You shall serve and shall be served,” Madame
went on. “You shall travel—high in air.”</p>
<p>“Tomorrow,” Danby laughed a low laugh.</p>
<p>“You are entering upon a fresh adventure.
Will you succeed?” Madame stared long at the
cards. “It is not written here. The cards are
silent. Perhaps another time.” She looked up
with a slow smile on her face.</p>
<p>“And now, Jeannie, my little one, my tea.”</p>
<p>A long sighing breath from every pair of
lips, a light nervous laugh, then the spell was
broken. Florence knew her fortune. They
might all drink their tea, then scatter to their
homes for a short night of repose. To Florence,
at least, the coming day would bring new
scenes and fresh promise of adventure.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_126">[126]</div>
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