“Lady and gent performers of the circus,” announced the ringmaster jovially, “I am sure we will all agree that a good time has been had by all.  We will now bestow honour where honour is due by bestowing the prizes.  Mrs. Townsend has asked me to bestow the prizes.  Now, fellow performers, the first prize is for that lady who has displayed this evening the most striking, becoming”—­at this point the bearded lady sighed resignedly—­“and original costume.”  Here the bale of hay pricked up her ears.  “Now I am sure that the decision which has been decided upon will be unanimous with all here present.  The first prize goes to Miss Betty Medill, the charming Egyptian snake charmer.”

There was a great burst of applause, chiefly masculine, and Miss Betty Medill, blushing beautifully through her olive paint, was passed up to receive her award.  With a tender glance the ringmaster handed down to her a huge bouquet of orchids.

“And now,” he continued, looking round him, “the other prize is for that man who has the most amusing and original costume.  This prize goes without dispute to a guest in our midst, a gentleman who is visiting here but whose stay we will hope will be long and merry—­in short to the noble camel who has entertained us all by his hungry look and his brilliant dancing throughout the evening.”

He ceased and there was a hearty burst of applause, for it was a popular choice.  The prize, a huge box of cigars, was put aside for the camel, as he was anatomically unable to accept it in person.

“And now,” continued the ringmaster, “we will wind up the cotillion with the marriage of Mirth to Folly!

“Form for the grand wedding march, the beautiful snake charmer and the noble camel in front!”

Betty skipped forward cheerily and wound an olive arm round the camel’s neck.  Behind them formed the procession of little boys, little girls, country Jakes, policemen, fat ladies, thin men, sword swallowers, wild men of Borneo, armless wonders and charioteers, some of them well in their cups, all of them excited and happy and dazzled by the flow of light and colour round them and by the familiar faces strangely unfamiliar under bizarre wigs and barbaric paint.  The voluminous chords of the wedding march done in mad syncopation issued in a delirious blend from the saxophones and trombones—­and the march began.

“Aren’t you glad, camel?” demanded Betty sweetly as they stepped off.  “Aren’t you glad we’re going to be married and you’re going to belong to the nice snake charmer ever afterward?”

The camel’s front legs pranced, expressing exceeding joy.

“Minister, minister!  Where’s the minister?” cried voices out of the revel.  “Who’s going to be the cler-gy-man?”

The head of Jumbo, rotund negro waiter at the Tallyho Club for many years, appeared rashly through a half-opened pantry door.

“Oh, Jumbo!”

“Get old Jumbo.  He’s the fella!”