A squad of pitmen here and there, their customary rivalries heated with liquor, were challenging each other noisily at the various ‘try-your-strengths’ and ‘prove-your-powers’ that were anchored in the corners of the market-place.
My attention was next attracted by the clash of cymbals and flamboyant drum-drubbings. ‘’Ere y’are, ladies and gents, ’ere y’are! Yo’r friend an’ acquaintance Bob Stevens, wiv his high-class dancin’, trapezin’, Shakespearian an’ variety entertainment!’
The great flaring gas-brackets, with their smoky tongues stabbing the darkness fitfully, lit up a most delectable advertisement. I produced ‘tuppence,’ ‘walked up,’ as invited, to the tent, and found myself in the ‘hall of amusement and instruction combined.’ It was already crowded, but I eventually discovered a seat in the far corner.
Cries of ‘Back! back!’[16] were still ringing in the air, and after a moment or two a most cadaverous-looking clown reappeared and advanced to the footlights.
His haggard, melancholy mien was in admirable artistic contrast to his garb and the burlesque humour of his song. ‘And oh,’ sang he, at the end of each verse relating some contretemps of the bashful lover, ‘it makes me very, very lively! Very, very lively!’ he repeated, as he step-danced up and down the tiny stage amidst the guffaws of his audience.
It was no great thing to do, perhaps; but it was admirably done. There was no extravagance in his accompanying actions, nor exaggeration of emphasis anywhere. In short, there was something of the genuine artist in him, and it was evident that he held his quaintly assorted ‘tuppeny’ audience in his grasp.
I grew strangely interested in the queer little figure before me. Something about him appealed strongly to the imagination.
He was encored again, and as I watched him more narrowly his aspect became more and more pathetic. I grew convinced that he was suffering physical pain; the blot of vermilion on his nose glowed brighter; beneath his mask of white I could see ashen-coloured lines streaking a colourless face.
‘Poor little chap,’ thought I; ‘he’s starving!’
Just at that moment he concluded at the ‘wings,’ bowing to the audience. His linen blouse blew open as he turned, and below a ragged shirt thus momentarily visible I saw that which made me suddenly feel sick. Before I recovered myself he had passed out on a step, humming his refrain, ‘Oh, it makes me very, very lively!’