Volume VII - Modernist Magazines Project

236 Bread and the Circuscaught a fitful glimpse of a drunken groom, muttering to himselfas he belaboured a horse with his fist; then, of a sudden, Jim'svoice bellowing behind me :" Mind yerself. Shift them 'orses. The elephants are comin ! "And their black, monstrpus forms loomed in front of me, movingsilently past, swinging their trunks from side to side." We always give 'em an hour's start. They can't do abovethree mile an hour. Come, bring them 'orses up to the bandwaggon.Here, boy, hold a light for 'im. Look alive ; we'rebehind time as it is."Already, on all sides, the rumblings of heavy wheels, andcrackings of whips were starting up ; the waggons were moving totheir places. The nigger tent-men set a light to the soiled forage -9the wind scattered the dense columns of smoke towards the sea,and the great tongues of crimson flame flickered up, licking theair, and revealing that the market-place had at last been cleared." All ready," sang Jim's swinging tones." All ready .... all ready," floated back a dozen wavering,distant answers." Into the buggy with yer. Pull the hay up round yer waist:it'll keep the cold out."Ahead, through the twilight, toiling up the hill, we couldperceive the long train of lumbering waggons, each with a raggedpetroleum flame swinging beneath the axle." Pull ov—er. .... Pull ov—er," and one by one they madeway for us as we cantered by them." Wake 'em up. .... Wake 'em up," and Jim, upright inbuggy, lashed each successive team into a hand gallop.When we had reached the front living-waggon, and only thewet, open road glimmering wanly in the sickly early morninglight, lay ahead of us, back we turned down the hill again, wakingup