told us that the approaching rattle could only proceed from a
dog-cart, and we felt sure it must be the funny man.

We called him the funny man because he was sad and serious, and
said little, but gazed right into our souls, and made us tell him
just what was on our minds at the time, and then came out with
some magnificently luminous suggestion that cleared every
cloud away. What was more he would then go off with us at once
and play the thing right out to its finish, earnestly and
devotedly, putting all other things aside. So we called him the
funny man, meaning only that he was different from those others
who thought it incumbent on them to play the painful mummer. The
ideal as opposed to the real man was what we meant, only we were
not acquainted with the phrase. Those others, with their
laboured jests and clumsy contortions, doubtless flattered
themselves that THEY were funny men; we, who had to sit
through and applaud the painful performance, knew better.

He pulled up to a walk as soon as he caught sight of us, and the
dog-cart crawled slowly along till it stopped just opposite.
Then he leant his chin on his hand and regarded us long and
soulfully, yet said he never a word; while we jigged up and
down in the dust, grinning bashfully but with expectation. For
you never knew exactly what this man might say or do.

"You look bored," he remarked presently; "thoroughly bored. Or
else--let me see; you're not married, are you?"

He asked this in such sad earnestness that we hastened to assure
him we were not married, though we felt he ought to have known