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After dinner they went to the tent behind the bathing beach, where the tops of two balloons bulged out over the canvas. A red-faced man in a linen suit stood in front of the tent, shouting in a hoarse voice and telling the people that if the crowd was good for five dollars more, a beautiful young woman would risk her life for their entertainment. Four little boys in dirty red uniforms ran about taking contributions in their pillbox hats. One of the balloons was bobbing up and down in its tether and people were shoving forward to get nearer the tent.

“Is it dangerous, as he pretends?” Eden asked.

“Molly says it’s simple enough if nothing goes wrong with the balloon. Then it would be all over, I suppose.”

“Wouldn’t you like to go up with her?”

“I? Of course not. I’m not fond of taking foolish risks.”

Eden sniffed. “I shouldn’t think sensible risks would be very much fun.”

Hedger did not answer, for just then every one began to shove the other way and shout, “Look out. There she goes!” and a band of six pieces commenced playing furiously.

As the balloon rose from its tent enclosure, they saw a girl in green tights standing in the basket, holding carelessly to one of the ropes with one hand and with the other waving to the spectators. A long rope trailed behind to keep the balloon from blowing out to sea.

As it soared, the figure in green tights in the basket diminished to a mere spot, and the balloon itself, in the brilliant light, looked like a big silver-grey bat, with its wings folded. When it began to sink, the girl stepped through the hole in the basket to a trapeze that hung below, and gracefully descended through the air, holding to the rod with both hands, keeping her body taut and her feet close together. The crowd, which had grown very large by this time, cheered vociferously. The men took off their hats and waved, little boys shouted, and fat old women, shining with the heat and a beer lunch, murmured admiring comments upon the balloonist’s figure. “Beautiful legs, she has!”

“That’s so,” Hedger whispered. “Not many girls would look well in that position.” Then, for some reason, he blushed a slow, dark, painful crimson.

The balloon descended slowly, a little way from the tent, and the red-faced man in the linen suit caught Molly Welch before her feet touched the ground, and pulled her to one side. The band struck up “Blue Bell” by way of welcome, and one of the sweaty pages ran forward and presented the balloonist with a large bouquet of artificial flowers. She smiled and thanked him, and ran back across the sand to the tent.

“Can’t we go inside and see her?” Eden asked. “You can explain to the door man. I want to meet her.” Edging forward, she herself addressed the man in the linen suit and slipped something from her purse into his hand.

They found Molly seated before a trunk that had a mirror in the lid and a “make-up” outfit spread upon the tray. She was wiping the cold cream and powder from her neck with a discarded chemise.

“Hello, Don,” she said cordially. “Brought a friend?”

Eden liked her. She had an easy, friendly manner, and there was something boyish and devil-may-care about her.

“Yes, it’s fun. I’m mad about it,” she said in reply to Eden’s questions. “I always want to let go, when I come down on the bar. You don’t feel your weight at all, as you would on a stationary trapeze.”

The big drum boomed outside, and the publicity man began shouting to newly arrived boatloads. Miss Welch took a last pull at her cigarette. “Now you’ll have to get out, Don. I change for the next act. This time I go up in a black evening dress, and lose the skirt in the basket before I start down.”