"What is it, Jerry?" asked Mrs. Bowe. "Tell mother."
Jerry tried to think of something to say that wouldn't hurt his father's feelings or his mother's, but couldn't, and he stood there in misery and disappointment, his lips quivering and twisting and the tears gathering on his eyelashes.
It was Danny who voiced the emotions that Jerry was experiencing.
"You look different," he said. "Only your voice sounds the same."
"Bless my soul!" cried Mr. Burrows, and laughed heartily. "The boy's disappointed that his father's just a man and not a clown."
"Is that it, Jerry?" asked his mother, falling to her knees and gathering him close to her breast.
"He ain't Whiteface," Jerry mourned softly in her ear.
Mr. Bowe laughed at that, and it was such a good-humored, infectious chuckle of mirth that Jerry at last looked up at his very disappointing father, and the twinkle in his father's eyes and the engaging, twisty smile that played about his lips comforted Jerry. This father of his wasn't so ordinary looking, after all! But a clown is so much more interesting than just an everyday father.
"You'll see Whiteface often enough," he promised Jerry, "to satisfy even you."
"Nora won't," said Jerry, "nor Kathleen nor Celia Jane."