face. And his father, who had on a red vest and white trousers, with tall boots, and a whip in his hand, watched him. It was really pitiful. My father was sorry for him, and spoke of him on the following day to Delis the painter, who came to see us. These poor people were killing themselves with hard work, and their affairs were going so badly! The little boy pleased him so much! What could be done for them? The artist had an idea.
“Write a fine article for the Gazette,” he said: “you know how to write well. Tell the wonderful things which the little clown does, and I will draw his portrait for you. Everybody reads the Gazette, and people will flock to see the circus.”
They did so. My father wrote a good article, full of jests, which told all that we had seen from the window, and made people want to see and pet the little artist. And the painter sketched a little portrait which was graceful and a good likeness, and which was published on Saturday evening. And behold! at the Sunday performance a great crowd rushed to the circus. The announcement was made: Benefit Performance for the Little Clown, as he was styled in the Gazette. The circus was crammed; many of the spectators held the Gazette in their hands, and showed it to the little clown, who laughed and ran from one to another, perfectly delighted. The proprietor was delighted also. Just fancy! Not a single newspaper had ever done him such an honor, and the money-box was filled.
My father sat beside me. Among the spectators we found persons we knew. Near the entrance for
