Dreaming Jewels Read Online Free PDF Page B

even talk about it. Understand? If he asks you about it, just cry. Have you got all that?”
    “Sure,” said Horty casually. “Which one is going to be my bed?”
    Zena frowned. “Honey—this is terribly important. You’ve got to remember every single word I say.”
    “Oh, I do,” said Horty. And to her obvious astonishment he reeled off everything she had said, word for word.
    “My!” she said, and kissed him. He blushed. “You are a quick study! That’s wonderful. All right then. You’re nineteen years old and your name’s—uh—Hortense. (That’s in case you hear someone say ‘Horty’ some day and the Maneater sees you look around.) But everybody calls you Kiddo. All right?”
    “Nineteen and Hortense and Kiddo. Uh-huh.”
    “Good. Gosh, honey, I’m sorry to give you so many things to think of at once! Now, this is something just between us. First of all, you must never, never let the Maneater know about Junky. We’ll find a place for him here, and I don’t want you to ever talk about him again, except to me. Promise?”
    Wide eyed, Horty nodded. “Uh-huh.”
    “Good. And one more thing, just as important. The Maneater’s going to fix your hand. Don’t worry; he’s a good doctor. But I want you to push every bit of old bandage, every little scrap of cotton he uses, over toward me if you can, without letting him notice it. I don’t want you to leave a drop of your blood in his trailer, understand? Not a drop. I’m going to offer to clean up for him—he’ll be glad; he hates to do it—and you help me as much as you can. All right?”
    Horty promised. Bunny and Havana pounded just then. Horty went out first, holding his bad hand behind him, and they called him Zena, and Zena pirouetted out, laughing, while they goggled at Horty. Havana dropped his cigar and said “Hey.”
    “Zee, he’s beautiful!” cried Bunny.
    Zena help up a tiny forefinger. “She’s beautiful, and don’t you forget it.”
    “I feel awful funny,” said Horty, twitching his skirt.
    “Where on earth did you get that hair?”
    “A couple of false braids. Like ’em?”
    “And the dress?”
    “Bought it and never wore it,” said Zena. “It won’t fit my chest expansion… Come on, kids. Let’s go wake the Maneater.”
    They made their way among the wagons. “Take smaller steps,” said Zena. “That’s better. You remember everything?”
    “Oh, sure.”
    “That’s a good—a good girl, Kiddo. And if he should ask you a question and you don’t know, just smile. Or cry. I’ll be right beside you.”
    A long silver trailer was parked next to a tent bearing a brilliantly colored poster of a man in a top-hat. He had long pointed mustachios and zig-zags of lightning came from his eyes. Below it, in flaming letters, was the legend
    WHAT DO YOU THINK?
    Mephisto Knows.
    “His name isn’t Mephisto,” said Bunny. “It’s Monetre. He used to be a doctor before he was a carny. Everyone calls him Maneater. He don’t mind.”
    Havana pounded on the door. “Hey, Maneater! Y’going to sleep all afternoon?”
    “You’re fired,” growled the silver trailer.
    “Okay,” said Havana casually. “Come on out and see what we got.”
    “Not if you want to put it on the payroll,” said the sleepy voice. There were movements inside. Bunny pushed Horty over near the door and waved to Zena to hide. Zena flattened against the trailer wall.
    The door opened. The man who stood there was tall, cadaverous, with hollows in his cheeks and a long bluish jaw. His eyes seemed, in the early morning light, to be just inch-deep black sockets in his head. “What is it?”
    Bunny pointed at Horty. “Maneater, who’s that?”
    “Who’s that?” He peered. “Zena, of course. Good morning, Zena,” he said, his tone suddenly courtly.
    “Good morning,” laughed Zena, dancing out from behind the door.
    The Maneater stared from Zena to Horty and back. “Oh, my aching bankroll,” he said. “A sister act. And if I don’t hire her