"Hear, hear," Airdale shouted. "Down with ailments," and he threw a cushion at Claude. "I wish you wouldn't behave like a clown," said Claude, smoothing his ruffled hair and looking to see if Lily was joining in the laugh against him. Presently the conversation turned upon the prospects of the two girls for next winter, about which Sylvia was very pessimistic. "Why don't we join together and run a street show--Pierrot, Pierrette, Harlequin, and Columbine?" Airdale suggested. "I'll swear there's money in it." "About enough to pay for our coffins," said Claude. "Sing out of doors in the winter? My dear Jack, you're mad." Sylvia thought the idea was splendid, and had sketched out Lily's Columbine dress before Lily herself had realized that the conversation had taken a twist. "Light-blue crêpe de Chine with bunches of cornflowers for Columbine. Pierrette in dark blue with bunches of forget-me-nots, Pierrot in light blue. Silver and dark-blue lozenges for Harlequin." "Paregoric lozenges would suit Claude better," said Airdale. "O Pagliacci! Can't you hear him? No, joking apart, I think it would be a great effort. We sha'n't have to sing much outside. We shall get invited into people's houses." "Shall we?" Claude muttered. "And if the show goes," Airdale went on, "we might vary our costumes. For instance, we might be Bacchanals in pink fleshings and vine leaves." "Vine leaves," Claude ejaculated. "Vine Street more likely." "Don't laugh, old boy, with that lung of yours," said Airdale, earnestly. In the end, before the company left Eastbourne, it was decided, notwithstanding Claude's lugubrious prophecies, to launch the enterprise; when the tour broke up in December Sylvia had made dresses both for Lily and for herself as she had first planned them with an eye only for what became Lily. Claude's hypochondria was appeased by letting him wear a big patchwork cloak over his harlequin's dress in which white lozenges had been substituted for silver ones, owing to lack of money. They hired a small piano very much like the one that belonged to the Pink Pierrots, and on Christmas Eve they set out from Finborough Road, where Claude and Jack had rooms near Mrs. Gowndry's. They came into collision with a party of carol-singers who seemed to resent their profane competition, and, much to Jack Airdale's disappointment, they were not invited into a single house; the money taken after three hours of wandering music was one shilling and fivepence in coppers. "Never mind," said Jack. "We aren't known yet. It's a pity we didn't start singing last Christmas Eve. We should have had more engagements than we should have known what to do with this year." "We must build up the show for next year," Sylvia agreed, enthusiastically. "I shall sing the 'Lost Chord' next year," Claude answered. "They may let me in, if I worry them outside heaven's gates, to hear that last Amen."