But he could not admit to a stranger that traveling in elephants was just his wife’s excuse for traveling around the country they loved.
The old woman did not press the matter. “I knew a man once who sold mongooses,” she said cheerfully. “Or is it ‘mongeese’? He had been in the exterminator business and-what does that driver think he is doing?”
The big bus had been rolling along easily despite the driving rain. Now it was swerving, skidding. It lurched sickeningly-and crashed.
John Watts banged his head against the seat in front. He was picking himself up, dazed, not too sure where he was, when Mrs. Evans’ thin, confident soprano oriented him. “Nothing to get excited about, folks. I’ve been expecting this-and you can see it didn’t hurt a bit.”
John Watts admitted that he himself was unhurt. He peered near-sightedly around, then fumbled on the sloping floor for his glasses. He found them, broken. He shrugged and put them aside; once they arrived he could dig a spare pair out of his bags.
“Now let’s see what has happened,” Mrs. Evans went on. “Come along, young man.” He followed obediently.
The right wheel of the bus leaned drunkenly against the curb of the approach to a bridge. The driver was standing in the rain, dabbing at a cut on his cheek. “I couldn’t help it,” he was saying. “A dog ran across the road and I tried to avoid it.”
“You might have killed us!” a woman complained.
“Don’t cry till you’re hurt,” advised Mrs. Evans. “Now let’s get back into the bus while the driver phones for someone to pick us up.”
John Watts hung back to peer over the side of the canyon spanned by the bridge. The ground dropped away steeply; almost under him were large, mean-looking rocks. He shivered and got back into the bus.
The relief car came along very promptly, or else he must have dozed. The latter, he decided, for the rain had stopped and the sun was breaking through the clouds. The relief driver thrust his head in the door and shouted, “Come on, folks! Time’s a-wastin’! Climb out and climb in.” Hurrying, John stumbled as he got aboard. The new driver gave him a hand. “‘Smatter, Pop? Get shaken up?”
“I’m all right, thanks.”
“Sure you are. Never better.”
He found a seat by Mrs. Evans, who smiled and said, “Isn’t it a heavenly day?”
He agreed. It was a beautiful day, now that the storm had broken. Great fleecy clouds tumbling up into warm blue sky, a smell of clean wet pavement, drenched fields and green things growing-he lay back and savored it. While he was soaking it up a great double rainbow formed and blazed in the eastern sky. He looked at them and made two wishes, one for himself and one for Martha. The rainbows’ colors seemed to be reflected in everything he saw. Even the other passengers seemed younger, happier, better dressed, now that the sun was out. He felt light-hearted, almost free from his aching loneliness.
They were there in jig time; the new driver more than made up the lost minutes. A great arch stretched across the road: THE ALL-AMERICAN CELEBRATION AND EXPOSITION OF ARTS and under it PEACE AND GOOD WILL TO ALL. They drove through and sighed to a stop.
Mrs. Evans hopped up. “Got a date-must run!” She trotted to the door, then called back, “See you on the midway, young man,” and disappeared in the crowd.
John Watts got out last and turned to speak to the driver. “Oh, uh, about my baggage. I want to-”
The driver had started his engine again. “Don’t worry about your baggage,” he called out. “You’ll be taken care of.” The huge bus moved away.
“But-” John Watts stopped; the bus was gone. All very well-but what was he to do without his glasses?
But there were sounds of carnival behind him, that decided him. After all, he thought, tomorrow will do. If anything is too far away for me to see, I can always walk closer. He joined the queue at the gate and went in.
It was undeniably the greatest show ever assembled for the wonderment of mankind. It was twice as big as all outdoors, brighter than bright lights, newer than new, stupendous, magnificent, breathtaking, awe inspiring, supercolossal, incredible-and a lot of fun. Every community in America had sent its own best to this amazing show. The marvels of P. T. Barnum, of Ripley, and of all Tom Edison’s godsons had been gathered in one spot. From up and down a broad continent the riches of a richly endowed land and the products of a clever and industrious people had been assembled, along with their folk festivals, their annual blowouts, their celebrations, and their treasured carnival customs. The result was as American as strawberry shortcake and as gaudy as a Christmas tree, and it all lay there before him, noisy and full of life and crowded with happy, holiday people