I have endeavoured to show that Mr. Crips was not a diffident man; he did not distress himself with scruples; fear of failure in an enterprise of this kind never worried him.  He walked across the grand ball-room, swaggering in his rags, lifted his hat to a Watteau shepherdess who was laughing at him from a settee in a recess, and said: 

“Would yer darnce with er poor man, kind lydie?”

Again the crowd laughed.  A tall Mary Queen of Scots peered at Nickie through her lorgnette, and said.

“How very whimsical!” The little shepherdess was a merry spirit, and bowed willingly.  Nickie wrote “Milk Made” on his absurd programme, and the quaintly assorted pair joined in the waltz.  How, where and when Nickie the Kid had learnt to dance Heaven knows, but he waltzed well, and after that he danced with Mary Stuart in a set.

He was particularly attracted by Mary Stuart.  She was a fine woman and the rakish Nicholas had a discriminating eye where the sex was concerned.  Mary had a bold eye too, and a breezy manner.  She took great joy in the tramp.

A feature of Nickie’s very humorous and original impersonation of the Yarra-banker was his waggish begging.  When he had danced, before leaving his partner, he assumed a most lugubrious manner, and said: 

“Dear lydie, would you kindly assist a pore decayed gent, what’s got a bedridden wife an’ nine starvin’ children, all twins?  Just a copper, lydie.  The bailiffs is in, lydie, an’ if I don’t take ’orne nine-pence for the rent they’ll seize ther kerosene case, an’ ther flour-sack, and ther rest iv ther drorin-room furniture, kind lydie.”

A gay vivandiere led Nickie to a portly Henry VIII.  “Sire,” she said, “this poor man claims king’s bounty for his three sets of triplets.  I humbly commend him to your majesty.”

“Just a trifle to assist a poor man, kind gent,” whined Nickie the Kid.  “Not a morsel iv turkey’s passed me lips for seven days.  Just a few pence, sir, to buy champagne fer me widders and orphans.  I don’t care about meself, kind sir.”

King Henry promptly dropped half-a-crown into Nickie’s hat.  Two, or three laughing guests standing about contributed silver.  There was an impression in the ballroom that the sum of the quaint tramp’s collection would go to a charity.  None but Nickie himself knew the charitable object to which the money was to be devoted.

Nickie danced with all sorts and conditions of women.  Romeo slapped him on the back.

“Splendid, deah boy!” he said.  “We been thrown together, you know.  Ran’ into you at the gate—­what?  By gad, you’re doin it well.  But I say, who the devil are you?”

“I’m Willie’ the Waster, kind young gentleman, and I’m residin’ under No. 3 wharf, fifth plank from the corner.  Would yer give er trifle towards me time-payment furniture, please, sir.”

Romeo contributed a shilling.  “You’re a sport,” he said.  “They’re all on to you.  Dolly herself’s delighted.  Yes, you’re right as rain for the prize, but you might put me on—­what?”