Life — September 8, 1898 — page 15: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

tears, “Ihave had a dream. Oh, Pierre, do not perform this afternoon. I saw you crusbel—crushed!” He took her in his arms and rocked herto and fro like a little child till she was calmer. ‘The old La Pause only laughed. “ Pshaw! Woman's nerves! There's nothing in it. Pierro, wo must work. You are not going togivein? Youare not afraid?” Then, when he saw Piorre still hesitating, he whispered: “Tell her you won't, but we'll do it all the same.” Poor little Clara! They didn’t believe her warning. That afternoon, in the midst of his star act, while Mothor La Pause was blowing the battered bugle and Jean was beating his dram, while flrearms were exploding, the steam organs squeaking, and the a eg mountebanks shouting, Pierre mado a misstep, slipped, and, with a soft thud, fell backward be- neath the table and the weights. When they lifted him from under tho pile they found bim dead, with a little red muss around his lips. They buried him next morning in a little cometery on the bill, All the mountebanks wero there, and during the ceremony a drum was beating dolefully in the valley. Tho booth remained closed that night. It formed a dark patch in the line of lighted tents, and the crowd would stop a moment in front ot a large sign: FERME POUR CAUSE DE DECES. then pass by and soon forget tho sudden and un- pleasant sensation they had had in tho midst of the noise, light and gaiety of the fair. Tho next day the fortune-teller's booth was open again, Father La Pause stood there as before, and near him his FAREWELL PERFORMANCES. wife, in the same faded tights, with the same florid face, blowing distractedly into the battered bugle, while the boy with the big head grinned and bent bis drum passionately. Father La Pause motioned with his stick. Tho music ceased, The crowd listened eagerly while the old mounte- bank sang the fortune- teller’s praises. “Think of it, ladies and gentlemen! She predicted the death of her husband!” And, turn- ing to his wife, he asked: “Is it not 80, yon?” Poor Madame La Pause nodded affirmatively, then turned her head while sho wiped away the tears, “Entrez, Mesdames et Messieurs! Entrez!" shouted Father La Pause. But the crowd did not need to be urged. The news of Pierre's death had spread, and o long line had soon formed in the enclosure, ‘ Good!” exclaimed the old mountebank, rub- his hands; “very good! Business is brisk, I always said Pierro was a find—a great find!” AT THE KENNEL CLUB. Gustav Kobté and Andre Magnia,