Red Wagon [antikvár]

CHAPTER I The day had scarcely begun, yet it gave promise of being a fair one. Dim floating banks of white mist still clung like smoke to the green rounded summits of the distant hills ; below the hills a great rolling stretch of emerald turf was broken, here and there, by scattered gimcrack bungalows, tawdry sentinels of the sprawling town beyond the point; the steep cliffs gleamed white, flinging long shadows on to the sands, which seemed dark and wet by contrast ; the sky, tinted with all the soft hues of a wood-pigeon's breast, curved languidly to melt itself into the vastness of the pearl-grey sea. They united, but so remotely that one might only guess at their union. A handful of gulls screamed and fluttered on the cliffs. The sails of half a dozen fishing-boats, drifting on the dead calm of the ocean, resembled nothing so much as the tranquil wings of these birds. It was early, but there were signs of life on the downs above. True, the shoddy bungalows still slept, but beyond them a clump of curious habitations showed that saltin-banques, mountebanks, or what were once known as strolling players, had there taken up their camp for the night. Impossible to guess, from gazing at their stronghold, that these were the days of aeroplanes and wireless-sets. The circus changes little. A big, dome-like grey tent, weather-beaten and stained, a bevy of little bright flags streaming bravely from its pinnacle. Behind the giant a cluster of smaller tents, like tiny mushrooms encircling a big one ; grouped in a bright jumble about this display of shabby canvas, a train of scarlet, gold-encrusted caravans and living-wagons, arranged somewhat after the manner of a redskin's primitive