"Come along now and sit on this chair, which belonged, so they say, so they told me in Red Lion Court where I bought it, to the great Joseph Grimaldi. But then, you never heard of Grimaldi. Ah, well, he must have been a very wonderful clown, by all accounts, though I never saw him myself. Perhaps you don't even know what a clown is? Do you? What's a clown, my dear?" "I dunno." "Well, he's a figure of fun, so to speak, a clown is. He's a cove dressed all in white with a white face." "Was it a clown in Punch and Judy?" "That's right. That's it. My stars and garters, if you ain't a knowing one. Well, I was a clown once." "When you was a little boy?" "No, when I was a man, as you might say." "Are clowns good?" inquired Jenny. "Good as gold--so to speak--good as gold, clowns are. A bit high-spirited when they come on in the harlequinade, but all in good part. I suppose, taking him all round, you wouldn't find a better fellow than a clown. Only a bit high-spirited, I'd have you understand. 'Oh, what a lark,' that's their motto, as it were." Ensconced in the great Grimaldi's chair, Jenny regarded the ancient Mischief with wondering glances and, as she sucked one of his lollipops, thoroughly approved of him. "Look at this pretty lady," he said, placing before her a colored print of some famous Columbine of the past. "Why is she on her toes?" asked Jenny. "Light as a fairy, she was," commented Mr. Vergoe, with a bouquet of admiration in his voice. "Is she trying to reach on to the mantlepiece?" Jenny wanted to know. "My stars and garters, not she! She's dancing--toe-dancing, as they call it." "I don't dance like that," said Jenny. "Of course you don't, but you could with practice. With practice, I wouldn't say as you mightn't be as light as a pancake, so to speak." "I can stand on my toes," declared Jenny proudly. "Can you now?" said Mr. Vergoe admiringly. "To reach fings off of the table." "Ah, but then you'd be holding on to it, eh? Tight as wax, you'd be holding on to it. That won't do, that won't. You must be able to dance all over the room on your toes." "Can you?" "Not now, my dear, not now. I could once, though. But I never cared for playing Harlequin." "Eh?" "That's a fellow you haven't met yet." "Is he good?" "Good--in a manner of speaking--but an awkward sort of a laddie with his saber and all. But no malice at bottom, I'm sure of that." "Can I be a C'mbine?" "Why not?" exclaimed the old man. "Why not?" And he thumped the table to mark the question's emphasis. Jenny became very thoughtful and wished she had a petticoat all silver and pink, like the pretty lady on her toes. "Would I be pretty?" she asked at length. "Wonderfully pretty, I should say." "Would all the people say--'pretty Jenny'?" "No more wouldn't that surprise me," declared Mr. Vergoe. "Would I be good?" The old man looked puzzled.