Chapter XXIX: The White Light

Well at all events, Hervey might now inspect freely the sanctum of the diving wonder. His enthusiasm for the hero was not dimmed. Even the derby hat had not entirely covered up Diving Denniver. Here was just another exhibition authority. That a cop should make so free with Diving Denniver, even calling him Charlie!

Hervey went into the tent, and stood looking about. Muffled by the distance he could hear the frightful monotonous music of the merry-go-round playing _Little Annie Rooney_ for the millionth time. On the red board were strewn the leavings of Diving Denniver’s supper. The smutty little oil-stove reeked of kerosene. A long, up-ended box did duty as a washstand and on this, beside a tin basin, was the photograph of a girl. A couple of candles burned and sputtered. On the tent pole hung a broken mirror.

Diving Denniver’s bathrobe and his white bathing suit trimmed with gold braid lay on the converted couch just as he had thrown them in his hurry and anger. The very bathrobe, half off and half on the couch, seemed eloquent of his high disgust at the tyrannical interruption of his work. Hervey surmised that he would speak with the management of the carnival on his way out; he wondered why the two had not gone in that direction. But in truth the diving wonder did not love his public enough to consider it in his sudden dilemma. He never went up when the wind was strong. And he was not thinking of the expectant throng now.

Hervey longed to don that gorgeous exhibition suit. Could he slip it on in a hurry? With him it was but one step from impulse to action and in a few seconds he had thrown off his suit and was gazing at himself in the dirty old mirror, clad in the white and gold habiliments of the international wonder. How tightly it fitted! How thrillingly professional it made him feel! What a moment in his young life!

Suddenly, something very extraordinary happened. The trodden grass at his feet shimmered with a pale brightness. Clearly he saw a couple of cigarette butts in the grass. It was as if some one had spilled this brightness on the ground. Then it was gone. And there was only a dim light where the candles sputtered on the makeshift table. That was a strange occurrence.

He stepped out of the tent and there was the patch of brightness near the Ford sedan. How plainly he could read the flaunting words on the spare tire, THREE HUNDRED FOOT DIVE. Then suddenly, the square tank and the foot of the dizzy ladder were bathed in light. A long, dusty column was poking around as if it had lost something. The sedan was again illuminated. The bright patch moved under the tent and painted an area of the canvas golden. Was it looking for Diving Denniver, the wonder of two continents, to come forth and make his three hundred foot dive?

It found the tank and the ladder again and made them glowing and resplendent. Then there was wafted on the air the robust sound of the band playing real music. It drowned the tin-pan whining of the merry-go-round and sent its rousing strains over the fence which bore the forbidding sign. What a martial tumult! It made the cane ringers pause, sent the carriers of kewpie dolls to a point of vantage, and left the five-legged calf forlorn and alone. Louder and louder it sent forth its rousing melody.

Come take a ride o’er the clouds with me
Up in the air mid the stars.

Hervey Willetts stood petrified. He was in the hands of the gods--or the devils. I have sometimes wondered if he ever, _ever_ thought. Behind every act, good or bad, there is some kind of intention. And I have told you about boys whose intentions were not of the best. But what of this boy? There was just never anything behind his acts. No boy could catch him. Yet the band and the waiting light caught him. And what did they do to him? The light seemed to be waiting for him, there at the foot of the ladder. All else was darkness. Only the area of brightness bathing the ladder and the big tank with its metal corners. It seemed to say, “Come, I am going up with you.” And, God help him, he went to it as a moth flies to a flame.

When he had ascended a few feet, he remembered that Diving Denniver went up very slowly seeming to test each rung. He knew now that this had been for effect and to make the climb seem long. For the rungs were sound and strong. Also the performer had occasionally extended his arm. The substitute realized that there had been good reason for that, for the breeze was more brisk as he ascended and he knew that the diver had thus held out his hand by way of keeping tabs on the breeze.

The small tank permitted no divergence from the straight descent. To land outside it----

He went up slowly, but did not pause at each rung. He could be reckless, but not theatrical. But he did hold out his hand every few feet and the gay breeze cooled his sweaty palm. Was the wind too strong? What would Diving Denniver do? Go back? But in any case Hervey could not do that. He never turned back.

He continued ascending, up, up, up. He could feel the ladder sway a little. When he was about half-way up, the breeze made a little murmur where it was cut by one of the wires extending off slantingways, far off down to the earth somewhere. It was funny how he could see these wires in the circle of light that had accompanied him in his long climb, but could not follow them with his eyes to their distant anchorages. Each wire disappeared in the darkness, and he had an odd fear that they did not go anywhere. He saw the lights of the carnival, but no human beings. Were they gazing at him--hundreds of upturned faces?

Up, up, up he went. Was there no end to it? Now he did really feel the force of the breeze. Was it too strong? How could he decide that? He could hear the band, but he knew it would cease playing when he reached the top. In that one brief moment of suspense it would cease playing. His companion light moved with him like a good pal. And beyond and below all was darkness except for the lights of the carnival.

Up, up, up he climbed. And he came at last to the little platform at the top, as big as the top of a stepladder. It was just a little shelf fixed to the fifth or sixth rung from the top. But the part of the ladder above that would serve as a back and he could lean against it. By fancying the ground was right below him, by eliminating the distance from his mind, he was able to squirm around and get onto this tiny shelf. He did not know how Diving Denniver did this, but he managed it.

Standing on the little shelf and leaning back, he could feel the ladder shake under him. Of course, there were several ladders clamped together and the extending wires could not hold the towering structure absolutely taut. But it was steady at the top.

Far below him was a square frame of lights marking the sides of the tank which had been illuminated during his ascent. Within it the water shimmered. His senses swam and he closed his eyes, then opened them and got control of himself. A straight down dive would do it. Would it? Yes, he was sure. He let go the ladder and laid his two hands palm to palm above his head.

There was no music now.