The song floated up into the blue summer sky, carrying me with it--possibly in pursuit of the fairy feet (for which I had already found an owner). Exposure, rough usage, mayhap gin-and-water--all these had robbed the singer’s notes of something of their pristine freshness; but they rang out pure and limpid for all that. It was a trained voice, and must once have been a great voice. The crowd stood absolutely still. Never have I beheld a more attentive audience. "Grand opera, once," said Dicky’s voice softly in my ear. Then--"Oh, you poor thing!" I recalled my thoughts from their sentimental journey, to realise that the verse had broken off before the end and that the woman was once more in the throes of another attack of coughing, the black pompoms on her little white clown cap vibrating with every spasm. Impatient spectators began to drift away. I was conscious of a sudden movement beside me, and Dicky’s voice exclaimed, in the hoarse whisper which I knew he reserved for conversations with himself:-- "Go on! Be a man!" Next moment he had left my side and was standing in the centre of the ring, addressing the crowd. He was quite cool and self-possessed, but I saw his fingers curling and uncurling. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted. "Git out of the ring, Elbert!" suggested a voice, not unkindly. But The Freak continued:-- "I know we all sympathise with the plucky attempt this lady is making to entertain us under very difficult circumstances." The crowd, suspicious of a hoax of some kind, surveyed him dumbly. "I am sure," Dicky went on, "you will agree with me that with such a bad cough our entertainer has no right to be working so hard this afternoon; and I therefore propose, with your kind permission, in order that she may have a rest and get her voice back, to sing you one or two songs myself. I can’t sing for toffee; but I will do my best, and I know that you, being sportsmen all, will assist me by singing the choruses!" He took off his hat, bowed genially, and turned to the harpist. There was a buzz of appreciation and anticipation among the crowd. Evidently Dicky had touched the right note when he appealed to them as sportsmen. "Can you vamp a few chords, do you think?" I heard him say to the accompanist. "Yes, sir," replied the old man quickly. "Go on: I’ll follow you." The tired woman sank down upon the trampled grass beside the little boy; The Freak, hat in hand, struck an attitude; and the entertainment began. I do not know how many songs he sang. He passed from one to another with amazing facility, discoursing between the verses upon topics well suited to the taste and comprehension of his audience. His songs were not new, and the tales that he told were neither true nor relevant; but they served their purpose. He uplifted his voice and carried us all off our feet. He conducted us over the whole of that field of Music Hall humour which is confined within the following limits:-- (1) Alcoholic excess.