lenty of space," says Charley
Chaplin to us, "so the people can watch me." We do so, reverently, for
Charley's antics are worth watching. We make a wild dash, and plan to do
a tumble in imitation of Charley's. To our disappointment we find that
instead of sliding our feet dig into the soft sawdust, and the
projected collapse does not arrive. Intoxicated by the rich spice of
circus odours, the booming calliope, the galloping horses, we hardly
know what we are doing half the time. We hear Miss May Wirth, the Wonder
Rider of the World, complaining bitterly that someone got in front of
her when she was doing her particularly special stunt. We wonder
dubiously whether we were the guilty one. Alas, it is all over but the
washing up. Pat Valdo, gentlest of hosts, is taking off his trick hat
with the water cistern concealed in it. He has a clean towel ready for
his grateful pupils.

The band is playing "The Star-Spangled Banner," and all the clowns, in
various stages of undress, stand at attention. Our little peep into the
gay, good-hearted, courageous, and extraordinary world of the circus is
over. Pat and his fellows will go on, twice a day, for the next six
months. It takes patience and endurance. But it must be some consolation
to know that nothing else in the world gives half as much pleasure to so
many people.

HOUSE-HUNTING

[Illustration]

A curious vertigo afflicts the mind of the house-hunter. In the first
place, it is sufficiently maddening to see the settled homes of other
happier souls, all apparently so firmly rooted in a warm soil of
contentment while he floats, an unhappy sea-urchin, in an ocean of
indecision. Furthermore, how confusing (to one who likes to feel himself
somewhat securely established in a familiar spot) the startling panorama
of possible places in which he visualizes himself. One day it is Great
Neck, the next it is Nutley; one day Hollis, the next Englewood; one
day Bronxville, and then Garden City. As the telephone rings, or the
suasive accents of friendly realtors expound the joys and glories of
various regions, his uneasy imagination flits hoppingly about the
compass, conceiving his now vanished household goods reassembled and
implanted in these contrasting scenes.

Startling scenarios are filmed in his reeling mind while he listens,
over the tinkling wire, to the enumeration of rooms, baths, pantries,
mortgages, commuting schedules, commodious closets, open fireplaces, and
wha