Case with 4 Clowns by Leo Bruce Page B

it being something extraordinary that makes the artists do the best they possibly can. You ought to stay and see it, then you’d know what I mean.”
    â€œWhat date is it?” asked Beef.
    â€œThe 3rd of May. It’s a red letter day for us,” said Clem, grinning.
    â€œRed Letter Day?” queried Beef.
    â€œYes, that’s what it is. Birthday and Christmas rolled into one. We have a good time that day.”
    â€œWouldn’t like to miss that for anything,” said Beef, and with that we left the wagon.
    â€œThis is making me feel a bit dizzy,” Beef told me. “I feel as if we’re canvassing for an election, or something, and have to keep all bright and breezy all the time.” He looked at his bill again. “Might as well go and see Corinne Jackson now,” he said, and went to the proprietor’s wagon.
    Jackson was not in the wagon when Beef knocked, but Mrs. Jackson was there, and also Corinne and Eric Jackson, the son and daughter of the proprietor. Mrs. Jackson, who invited theSergeant in, quickly bustled away to make a cup of tea, this occupation seeming to be her surest standby in any and every situation, and Beef was left sitting awkwardly with Corinne and Eric. For a long time there was silence, punctuated only by Mrs. Jackson’s trite opinion of the weather given every time she had cause to pass through the central room of the wagon. Eric had grunted shortly when Beef first entered and had since made no remark whatever, and Corinne seemed to be unaware of the Sergeant’s presence in any way. Beef regarded her perfect profile with something of awe.
    Corinne Jackson was beautiful in an altogether uncircuslike way. She had none of the rich coloring of the Latin, being so different from her father that it made one look at her mother with a new interest. Had Mrs. Jackson actually been beautiful as a young woman? Corinne would seem to argue this. Her fair, closely waved hair seemed to fit close to her head, carved and set like the head of a Greek statue. Only her nostrils, with their slight arrogant curve, betrayed a trace of selfishness. Slowly and carefully she was painting her eyelashes with mascara. Beef gazed at her, his mouth slightly open.
    â€œDon’t you find it difficult to see where you’re going with that stuff on?” he blurted out at last.
    Corinne stared at him coldly for a moment, and then returned to her mirror without saying anything. Eric Jackson, however, gave a quickly suppressed giggle, and Beef turned to him as a likely ally.
    â€œWell, I mean,” he said explanatorily, “it must be uncomfortable, mustn’t it?”
    â€œCorinne Jacobi,” said Eric grandly. “The beautiful Corinne must not disappoint her public.”
    â€œCorinne Jacobi?” queried Beef.
    â€œThat’s her ring name,” explained Eric, with a smile. “Jackson wouldn’t look very good on the bill.”
    â€œOh, I see,” said Beef. “Like Sid Bolton calls himself ‘Tiny.’ Is that what you mean?”
    Once again Eric chuckled. “Well, something like that,” he agreed.
    â€œHere,” said Beef suddenly, glancing at the clown’s get-up which Eric wore, “you’re another of these clowns, aren’t you?”
    This time it was Corinne who laughed. “Just another of them,” she said. Beef looked at her in amazement.
    â€œYes, it talks,” said Eric snappily. “If you press the right button, that is.” And he jerked his thumb in the direction of his sister, who was furiously dabbing her face with powder.
    Beef seemed bewildered by this atmosphere of animosity, and sat looking from one to the other of the two Jacksons. They appeared only to be using his presence as a means of attacking one another, and if one had believed Beef to be in reality the well-meaning simpleton that he sometimes appeared, one would have thought him uncomfortable and a little