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A CLOWN'S SECRET.

By Peggy Weblixg.

"Hurry up there, Tom ! Let down your front border half an inch ; steady — right. Shut off that ruby lime. Ready, my dear? Lights ! Clear !"

The stage-manager clapped his hands and retired to. the wings, rubbing his hot face with his handkerchief. The columbine plucked, out her tulle skirts, the harlequin popped on his mask, the clown and pantaloon ran on to the stage, and l the harlequinade commenced.

"They like this sort o' rot here," said: the stage-manager, jerking his hiead towards the audience.

Willie Crane, who was the success of the pantomime in the character >f Widow Twankey, screwed up his nervous little face and shrugged his shoulders.

"Couldn't sit it out myself," he said. "Wish I could ! I'd give a hundred! pounds to be amused with a clown, but I'm always bored. Think I'd better give up goin,' to the theatre at all."

Willie Crane was a quaint and original comedian — short, agile, whimsical, and Ejrotesque. In the glimmer of the footlights he looked a boy; in reality, he was five-and-thirty. with a crooked, goodnatured mouth and 1 bright, restless eyes. "I've had such a row over taat beastly transformation scene," observed the stage-

manager.

"It's called 'A Vision of Bliss,' isn't it?" said Willie. ''Goodi-night, old man." "How unreal and absurd the whole business is !" ho thought, as the stage door sTCung behind him. He had mastered and delighted the audience for nearly three hours, and this" was the reaction. He suddenly felt depressed tend lonely. The streets were dull, a cold wind nipped his face; there was no attraction in the prospect of a solitary supper alone in his rooms, but he was not in the mood to join his friends in the crowded! bar of the theatre.

"What's the u&e of a big screw to me? I was far happier in the old days, with the old pals," he thought. "Good Lord ! What a rippin' time we had! There was Neddy Brewster, Will Edwards, and I. Poor old 1 Will is breakiui' his heart nowadays in musical comedy, earning thjrty pounds a week i&v easier than he used 1 to) earn thirty shillings. I wonder what's L-eoome of Ned Brewster? Old Ned ! What a plucky, proud fellow he was!"

A small crowd of people at the corner of i the, street jittracted. his a,tte,iit<io.n l J^nn^hjnjj; ,

the recollection of his old companions. It v.ms a meiry inquisitive little crowd, and in the centre, gesticulating and pattering in a high, unnatui'al voice, was the oddestlittle clown Willie Crane had ever seen. His old red and white suit was much too

big, and hung in bags about his figure ; an enormous ruff of rumpled tarlatan ' covered hi.s chest and reached to his ears ; there was a white skull cap on his head ; his hi-jr shoes were adorned with led rosettes and tied to his ankles with tape, and lie wore thick, red woollen gloves. His face was daubed with paint, effectually disguising the features, but the gash of a,

month displayed a good set of small, white i teeth, and black circles round the eyes j made them look very large and full. | "Is it a very old man of a very young j boy?" said Willie Crane to a lad in the | crowd. "Looks like a kid or a nape, don't it?" was the leply. The little clown suddenly broke into a wild danc2, clipping his woollen gloves together, stamping his feet, and rolling his head from side to side in a most ridiculous manner. Willies quick eye detected several clever bte|3«, neatly done, in the middle of this insane whirl, ana

aroused.

his curiosity was fairly

dropped a shilling into the felt hat that) the clown passed round, and looked keenly ' into his face.

"You must "spend a pretty penny on grease paint, my boy," he said quickly. "Chalk's cheap, Mrs Twaukey !" came the answer almost before his words were out. Willie smiled, amused at being recognised, but still uncertain as to the age of the clown. He danced with the gaiety of youth, but his eyes, turned tip for a second to Willies face, were troubled and frightened. Dropping the few coins he had collected into the pocket of his loose blouse, he picked up an old Inverness cape that was rolled into a bundle at the edge of the kerb, slipped it on, pulled the felt hat w-ell over his face, and tramped off, followed by the laughter and whistles of the crowd, for the cape reached nearlj- to his feet, and the hafc was several sizes too big. "What a delicious little fool!" Willie thought, laughing, and joined the procession of boys whe were pattering at the small man's heels. It was growing late, ar:d the air was bitterly cold. He gathered the old cape more closely round his thin figure, and bent his body nearly double before the

wind. Willie shivei-ed in his fur coat-, but when the clown stopped at a distant street ■ corner to give another performance the comedian stopped with him. Much of his patter was indistinct and all his jokes were old, but he danced with amazing energy and spirit. i "Come now, gentlemen, don't forget poor I old Joey!" ciied the grotesque little creature in his high, squeaky voice, winking his eye and nodding his head. "Joey's sure you can spare a penny for ihe harlequinade." The harlequinade ! Willie was surprised at his use of such a long word, and dropped another piece of silver into the old hat, but tha clown huriied bj without thanking him. He evidently disliked being followed, and when Willie, once again started in pursuit he almost ran away, glancing over his shoulder, like a frightened dwarf. The comedian quickened his pace and overtookhim. '

"Stop a minute, Joey," he said in his kind, cheery voice. "Come and have a drink. You must be nearly frozen, in your stage clothes, on a night like this,' 7 and he put out his hand to detain him. The street clown sprang away. '"My stage clothes :" he repeated in a broken, hoarse voice. "No ! I'm not a beggar." ''Why not take my invitation as kindly as I meant it?" asked the other man, half in pity, half in amusement. "We"re both in the same business. I dance on the stage — you dance on the pavement — where's the difference?" The clown made no answer, but with a vague, shrinking gesture jf farewell, hurried on. The comedian was a trifle piqued, and, moved by curiosity and an unaccountable feeling of interest, d&termined tc discover his name and dwelling place. Five times, as the minutes crept on to midnight, the little clown danced and sang vntil he had finished, and followed him on. five times Willie Crane patiently waited All his contemptuous amusement at the odd little man died 1 away. Laughter, mockery, and many a cruel jest greeted the uncouth figure, "and the highest reward was a handful of pence. Willie saw how weary he had' grown, for he limped painfully, but still endeavoured to outstrip pursuit. He was blown along the windy streets like the ghost of a clown, wrapped in Iris shroud, and when he stopped at last at the door of a mean house, the man behind him was intensely grateful. "The poor little fool must be half dead — and all for a few paltry shillings I"' he thought. The clown, opened the door with a latch key, slipped in, and closed it quickly him. Willie stood still on the "opposite side of the street, struck for the first time with the absurdity of his own conduct. "By George! I'll see it through!" he exclaimed, and, crossing the road 1 , rapped smartly at the door of the house. Several minutes passed before hi summons was a.n,s\vered', and then an untidy woman appeared. "I — I — wish to speak to the persoin wl» has just gone in," he said, with some hesitation. '*t have something particular to say, Of course, it is very late, but

The woman cut short his speech with a curt direction to the top of the house. I He groped his way up the shabby stairs, i and paused a, minute on the la&t landing, • JISQS&Jq JM&k pi ifcs P°-it politic way_ o£

approaching the clown. There was a murmur ot voices from a dimly lighted room, the door was paitly open, and he heard his own bame. It was a man who spoke, and a flood of recollections cam© into Willies mind as he listened.

He was a boy again, pouring out all hir hopes and fears to old Ned Brewster, thf friend of his youth, so much older and wiser, as he thought, than himself. Th ■ voice spoke again, and Willie could keep silence no longer.

"Ned!"' he cried impulsively; "Ned!" and threw open the door.

The loom was poor, but cheery. A man was seated in an armchair, by a glowing fire. He was so wan and altered that Willie Crane could only see the old 1 Ned in the expression of his hollow eyes and the smile of joyful recognition which lighted up his face. It was not at his old comrade that the comedian stared in amazement, but at the clown, kneeling beside his chair. The skull cap was lying on the floor, and a tangle of dark, wavy hair fell over the white ft>ce. from which the greasepaint had been rubbed away. The old rape was thrown back from the shoulders, and there wa*; something in the drooping figure and shape of the hand that clung to Brewster's Beck that suddenly told Willie Crane tlisi clown's secret.

He thought of the dreary streets ; the indifferent crowns; his own cruel pursuit, f'lid his heart ached with pity. Slowly the clown turned and looked up at him, with a faint appealing smile.

"You're a woman !" exclaimed Willie.

Ned Brewster laid his hand on the dark hair and pressed her close, while she hid her face against has shoulder.

"This is my daughter, Willie." said he. "We have worked and starved together. The luck has been dead against us. You see what a wreck I am. But for her, I siouM have died 1 this winter. All dayshe has been rewing h«re" — he pointed with a trembling l?nnd to a work-table by the nanow window — "and to-night — you know what she has done to-night ! Oh. Willie, look at my brave devoted child !"

He fondly raised her head, and she rose 1o her feet, with her wistful, gentle eyes turned on the other man. He was silent, but as he looked at h°r in the light of the fire — at the line of her delicate cheek, the sweet curve of her lips, the workworn little fingers twining round her father's hand— a deeper tenderness and admiration than he had ever known, before swept over him..

- Brewster was the first to speak. "You hay& lnrated tlie clown to his home, Willie ! Are you satisfied with the harlequinade?"

"I think it is the transformation, scene," said the girl, with all the new-born happiness of Willie Crane's eyes reflected in her own. "No. no !" exclaimed Willie, taking her hand in his and pressing it to her lips, "this is reality!" — M.A.P.

"O'GRADY'S TWELVE HOm*." "Twelve hours' work. O'Grady, when the union

rules say eight"'" "I know it, sir; but, you see, I want to do

four for my mate. He isn't one to complain at all, yet it's clear that he's getting weak ; But he'll toil till his strength gives out, I guess, before he gives in to speak. I knew when we chummed together til' poor chap wasn't over strong: ' It's a bit of a cold,' he said, but I guessed that the lungs were wrong; And though he ! may stick to the work, sir, and tell the shift boss he is right, It goes through my heart— a bit hard— to hear him a-couerhing at night. He's never yet taken a spell, and it's often I wish that he had; But, no, he won't miss a day, sir, 'cause the money is wanted bad. Not as he spends it himself— for I know out of

every pay He just squares up for his tucker's score, and the rest is sent away. It goes to his widowed mother; she lives on a six-acre farm, Fighting away with a mortgage, too, that has worked them heaps o' harm. And there is a crippled brother— a poor felW, lame and blind; And yet a happier, cheersome heart N I don't know where you'd find. Now, I thought by coming to you, sir, and tolling the whole thing straight, You might give him four hours to do, sir, and let me finish his eight. In his pay there'd be no lessening— he'd handle the same amount — / My four hours' extra would be for him for me they wouldn't count. And after his half-day's work, sir, he'd always have half a day's spell ; Then, if there's a chance at all, he might have the chance to get well. To me it's clearer, sir, each day his strength don't fit the work, But as long as he's on the shift, I know he's [ the very last one to shirk." "All, sir, don't say it can't be done — 'tis a most unusual plan — You might for once allow it, just to help a suffering man." "Ah! thank you, boss, you'll give a show; eh, it won't tax my powers! _ To help that good, brave mate o' mine' I'll gladly work 12 hours." — A. M. Andrews. Februaiy, 1905.

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Permanent link to this item

https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/OW19050308.2.295.3

Bibliographic details

Otago Witness, Issue 2660, 8 March 1905, Page 90

Word Count
2,275

A CLOWN'S SECRET. Otago Witness, Issue 2660, 8 March 1905, Page 90

A CLOWN'S SECRET. Otago Witness, Issue 2660, 8 March 1905, Page 90