He wore a pair of tights three sizes too small for him.  They had powdered his hair with fine sawdust and daubed his face with chalk and dyes.  They had stuffed out his stockings until his calves resembled sticks of knotted wood.

The manager nearly fell over in his chair with repressed laughter.  The audience was one vast chuckle.

“Well, sir,” spoke up the ringmaster, with difficulty keeping a straight face, “what can you do?”

“I’d like to be a clown,” grinned the victim.

“A clown, sir.  Good.  Let’s see you act.”

The fellow capered into the ring.  One stocking came down, letting out a quart of sawdust.  One tight split up to the knee as he made a jig step that brought the tears to the eyes of Billy Blow, who, with his boy, had come to witness the show.

Then the fellow sang a funny song.  It was funny.  His voice was cracked, his delivery dolorous.  He began to shuffle at the end of it.

“Faster, faster, sir!” cried the ringmaster, snapping his whip across the bare limb exposed.  “Faster, I tell you!”

“Ouch!” yelled the aspirant.

“Come, sir, faster.  I say faster, faster, faster!  Purely ring practice, my friend.  We do this to all the clowns, you know.”

With the pitiless accuracy of a bullwhacker the ringmaster pursued his victim.  The whip-lash landed squarely every time, biting like a hornet.  The aspirant was now on the run.

“Stop!  Don’t!  Help!” he roared.  “I don’t want to be a clown!” and with a bellow he ran out of the tent, followed by the hooting candy peddlers.

“Well, who are you?” demanded the ringmaster of two colored boys who stepped forward.

“Double trapeze act, sir,” said one of them.

“Oh, here you are.  Let’s see what you can do.”

The ringmaster set free the temporary trapeze rigging.

These aspirants did quite well, singly.  When they doubled, however, there was trouble.

The one swinging from the hands of the other lost his grip.  He caught out wildly, grabbed at the shirt sleeve of his partner to save himself.  This tightened the garment at the neck.  Then it gave way, buttons and all.  Both tumbled to the ground.  They began upbraiding one another, came to blows, and the ringmaster sent them about their business, saying the show could not encourage prize fighters.

The programme continued.  There was an ambitious lad who was quite a wonder at turning rapid cartwheels.  Another did some creditable pole balancing.  One old man wanted to serve as a magician.  All had a chance, but their merit was not distinguished enough to warrant their engagement.

Most of the crowd filed out when the last of the amateurs had done his “stunt.”  Benares then stepped up to the ringmaster and beckoned to Andy.

At his direction Andy threw off his coat and hat, and old Benares led the horse Andy had noticed into the main tent.  It was a steady-paced, slow-going steed.  The ringmaster got it started around the ring.