“That’s the worst of fortunes,” observed Mrs. Rawlins; “they leave so much to the imagination.”
Then others wanted to try holding the papers. But none could guess how a blank paper could be written on by the fire, whether a spirit did it or not.
“Great, isn’t it?” cried Tad Brown, as he watched the writing appear. “Joe Collins! Hullo, Joe, what you s’pose your fortune will be? Something desperate, ’ll bet. Joe’s a terror, you know!”
“We’ll see;” and Mr. Rawlins read:
“Your wit is keen, your humour fine,
To you they’ll prove a real gold mine!
For you will move from Berwick Town,
And be a famous Circus Clown!
Good, Joe! I’d go to the circus twice a day to see you perform.”
“I can do it!” and Joe capered around with the antics of a clown. “Here you are, ladies and gentlemen! The funniest living clown in captivity! Come one, come all! Pink lemonade free. Get your peanuts from Old Clay Rawlins! Hip! Hip! Hooray!”