Claudia had met them all before. Behind her back she was voted “a perfect lady, such high class, don’t you know.” More than that, they liked and admired her.
“Madam, welcome!” cried the acrobat, coming towards her performing the most extraordinary double-somersaults. “I bow to you! I go down on the ground before you! Hail!”
There was a chorus of laughs from the group under the trees. Claudia never failed to marvel at the ease with which they were amused.
“You’re too funny to live,” cried the dancer shrilly, who was by way of having a flirtation with him. “I don’t believe you’re no man at all. Your mother made a mistake. You’re a piece of indiarubber.”
“My mother was a highly respectable lady,” returned the acrobat, with his hand on his heart, “and her portrait is here. It wasn’t her fault she had a genius for a son. I say, is that a pocky-hanky for me you’re making?”
“No, silly, it ain’t. It’s a blawse. Do behave yourself while Mrs. Currey’s here, or I don’t know what she’ll think of us.... Oh! there goes the old muffin-bell for dinner. Funny how my pecker keeps up here. I get a hole in my bread-basket long before it’s time to feed.”
“Well, my dear, you take all you want or can pocket,” called out Fay hospitably. “No charge for a second helping here, and the meat isn’t all gristle and bone, like the chops the landladies get you.” There was a chorus of assent. “If there’s anything you want, you’ve only got to mention it.”
“You’re an ainjool, that’s what you are,” said the girl emphatically. “It’s like ’Eaven to be here. It ain’t ’alf doing me good, not much! I can pinch a bit up on my arm now. Talk about State Insurance; you give me Fay’s insurance.”
There was a general hearty murmur of agreement, and they all trooped off.