II.

“Yet?” demanded my friend.  “I went the first night, and I have been a good deal interested in the examination of my emotions ever since.  I can’t find out just why I have so much pleasure in the trapeze.  Half the time I want to shut my eyes, and a good part of the time I do look away; but I wouldn’t spare any actor the most dangerous feat.  One of the poor girls, that night, dropped awkwardly into the net after her performance, and limped off to the dressing-room with a sprained ankle.  It made me rather sad to think that now she must perhaps give up her perilous work for a while, and pay a doctor, and lose her salary, but it didn’t take away my interest in the other trapezists flying through the air above another net.

“If I had honestly complained of anything it would have been of the superfluity which glutted rather than fed me.  How can you watch three sets of trapezists at once?  You really see neither well.  It’s the same with the three rings.  There should be one ring, and each act should have a fair chance with the spectator, if it took six hours; I would willingly give the time.  Fancy three stages at the theatre, with three plays going on at once!”

“No, don’t fancy that!” I entreated.  “One play is bad enough.”

“Or fancy reading three novels simultaneously, and listening at the same time to a lecture and a sermon, which could represent the two platforms between the rings,” my friend calmly persisted.  “The three rings are an abuse and an outrage, but I don’t know but I object still more to the silencing of the clowns.  They have a great many clowns now, but they are all dumb, and you only get half the good you used to get out of the single clown of the old one-ring circus.  Why, it’s as if the literary humorist were to lead up to a charming conceit or a subtle jest, and then put asterisks where the humor ought to come in.”

“Don’t you think you are going from bad to worse?” I asked.

My friend went on:  “I’m afraid the circus is spoiled for me.  It has become too much of a good thing; for it is a good thing; almost the best thing in the way of an entertainment that there is.  I’m still very fond of it, but I come away defeated and defrauded because I have been embarrassed with riches, and have been given more than I was able to grasp.  My greed has been overfed.  I think I must keep to those entertainments where you can come at ten in the morning and stay till ten at night, with a perpetual change of bill, only one stage, and no fall of the curtain.  I suppose you would object to them because they’re getting rather dear; at the best of them now they ask you a dollar for the first seats.”

I said that I did not think this too much for twelve hours, if the intellectual character of the entertainment was correspondingly high.

“It’s as high as that of some magazines,” said my friend, “though I could sometimes wish it were higher.  It’s like the matter in the Sunday papers—­about that average.  Some of it’s good, and most of it isn’t.  Some of it could hardly be worse.  But there is a great deal of it, and you get it consecutively and not simultaneously.  That constitutes its advantage over the circus.”