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!_' Now, what I saw was a tumour which could only mean one thing, and that was death--an early and painful death probably. 'He's not starving,' I muttered to myself; 'poor little chap, he's dying!' I thought I would go out into the fresh air, but as I prepared to rise my eye caught sight of a chink in the canvas through which the 'green room' was visible. The trapeze gentleman was now performing, and the clown was removing his 'make up.' Now that he was off the stage I could see that he had a limp. A gust of wind came suddenly, enlarging the opening. He turned, apparently to close the orifice; his eyes met mine, and in that startled second I knew him to be the 'Caleb Jay.' Repressing a cry of surprise, I came out, and went round to the back to wait for him. III. 'Now, tell me,' said I, as I led him up to the station, 'why do you do it? You know you oughtn't to, for it will kill you if you exert yourself like that.' 'Ay, an' that's why,' replied he, 'for I ken I'm dyin'; I went an' axed a doctor a while back, iv Oldcastle, an' he says, "I'll gie ye a year ti live at the ootside," says he.' 'Then, why do it?' I urged. 'Do you love it so, or is it for the sake of the money?' 'Ay,' he replied, gasping a little, as we mounted the slope to the station, 'that's it. It's for the brass. Ye ken Tom, my brother? Well, it's for him i' pairt, an' i' pairt for my mother, who wants a bit frae me for my keep, ye ken. Noo, Tom's a bonny fellow, ain't he?--just a joy ti the eye ti look upon; an' he's aye wantin' a bit mair brass for this, an' that, an' t'ither, an', man, it's a pleasure ti me ti slave a bit for him. There's nae use o' brass for me--me that' just the puir "Caleb Jay"--but Tom's like a live lord when he's plenty of brass; an', man, but he spends it weel!'