f cave-men till we were heartily sick of it. Then we
emerged once more into historic times, and went off to the road to look
for something living and sentient to throw stones at.

Nature, so often a cheerful ally, sometimes sulks and refuses to play.
When in this mood she passes the word to her underlings, and all the
little people of fur and feather take the hint and slip home quietly
by back streets. In vain we scouted, lurked, crept, and ambuscaded.
Everything that usually scurried, hopped, or fluttered--the small
society of the undergrowth--seemed to have engagements elsewhere. The
horrid thought that perhaps they had all gone off to the circus occurred
to us simultaneously, and we humped ourselves up on the fence and felt
bad. Even the sound of approaching wheels failed to stir any interest
in us. When you are bent on throwing stones at something, humanity seems
obtrusive and better away. Then suddenly we both jumped off the fence
together, our faces clearing. For our educated ear had 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?"