engagement at Barnsley, and I went to see some
relations at Coventry, promising to meet Joey
on a certain day at a public-house close by the
Bower. I met him on the evening appointed.
He was in the parlour, surrounded by a lot of
people, smoking and drinking and listening with
all their ears to Joey. I could see, too, that
they were feasting their eyes upon him. I wasn't
prepared for the change in Joey's appearance.
He was togged out in first-rate style, in a shaggy
white great-coat with a velvet collar. He had a
large ring on his finger too, and studs in his shirt
front, and a watch-guard that looked as good as
gold. Joey had bested me again. I had never
given my appearance a thought, and though I
had my best things on, I looked shabby and mean
by the side of Joey. However, he greeted me
kindly in the old way, and introduced me to the
company by my new name: " Herr Devanti, the
Pantaloon," said Joey, with a magnificent wave
of the hand, " my friend and fellow artist. He
will play pantaloon to me at the Bower." The
company made way for me; but I felt it was
only because I was a friend of Signer Pollonio's.
I could see that Joey was a great gun among
them already.

We come out at the Bower and made a hit,
but Joey was the favourite; for, you see, the
clown always has the best of it, however good
the pantaloon may be. I often heard the boys
in the street talking about the pantomime.
They said, " Ain't Signer Pollonio a stunning
clown!" but they rarely said anything about me.
When anybody did say anything about me, it
was: "Devanti is good as pantaloon." And
then some one else would answer, "Yes—he
ain't bad."

Joey carried all before him. The clown, don't
you see, has the upper hand in the piece. He
makes fun of everybody, knocks everybody
about, even the police, and never comes to much
harm himself. This sort of character, it seems
to me, always gets well thought of in the world.
It's the way in our profession at any rate, and
I dare say it's the same in other things. Well,
I shouldn't complain of that if it didn't rob
others of their due. But what's the use of
talent, when it's only used to be scored off? If
Joey Grimaldi himself had tossed up for his line
and won pantaloon, I don't believe we should
ever have heard of him. It's like skittles.
You talk about the man who gets the floorers,
but, you never think of the pins. And yet the
pins are something; if they don't stand up right
to be hit, they won't go down. I was in for it
from that very night that I played pantaloon at
the Bower. I tried hard to get a clown's
engagement afterwards, but it was no go. I might
just as well have tried for Archbishop of
Canterbury. It had gone forth in London—"Herr
Devanti, the Pantaloon." And pantaloon I was
doomed to remain.

I soon got reconciled to my fate; but
pantalooning is bad for a man's spirits, bad for his
manners, bad for his opinion of himself. Clowning
is different; clowning brings a man out—
makes him hold up his head and feel himself
somebody as he walks the streets. It gives him
confidence, or, perhaps, what some might call
cheek.  Lor', you should have seen how Joey
improved after a month of good salary and
success at the Bower.  He come out a tremendous
swell.  such glossy hats, with braid all round
them! Such fluffy white great-coats! Such
jewellery! All the young women about the
neighbourhood were in love with him.  I might
have dressed out too, and I thought of doing it
once, but I soon lost heart.  I felt that it wasn't
for a pantaloon to be a swell.  People didn't
seem to care about staring after the pantaloon.
And yet I was as well made and as good-looking
as Joey.  But the pantalooning work takes the
pride and spirit out of a man.  At least it did
out of me, and I think you'll find it will out of
you, if you'll try it yourself.  Most pantaloons
are about the same.  It wasn't long before I
found myself carrying my stage life out into the
streets with me, so that the folks said they could
tell I was pantaloon by my walk.  As for Joey,
I have known him to be taken for the Marquis
of Waterford.  You should have seen how he
used to swell up and down Bow-street on
Saturdays among seedy actors waiting about there
for the ghost to walk; and how the poor devils used to
look at him and admire him.  Lor' bless you, I've
known a leading man, out of collar, say "sir" to Joey.

After that unlucky turn up of the halfpenny
Joey had the best of me in everything. He
was applauded by the public, petted by the
hangers-on about the theatre, treated by the
swells, and admired by all the women. And I
need not tell you that he always got a much
larger salary than I did. The clown always gets
more money than the pantaloon. A manager
scarcely takes the pantaloon into account. If
he gets a good clown, that's all he troubles
himself about. He trusts to the clown to find his
own pantaloon, as he finds his own wigs and his
own shoes. There was just one thing, only one,
in which I rather got the better of Joey, and I'll
leave you to judge if I have reason to rejoice over
it. Now mind; I don't say a word myself, one
way or another. One season, a good many years
ago now, Joey and I both fell in love with the
columbine. She was a pretty girl and clever, and
as good as she was both. Joey courted her all he
knew, and so did I; but, spite of fine clothes and
diamond rings, she preferred me, and we were
married. Poor thing, she has been disabled from
dancing for some years past, by the rheumatics;
but she is the mother of my children, and she
lias always worked hard when she could, and
she is a good soul as ever lived. Joey didn't
speak to me for a year after I married her, 'till
one night he came into my dressing-room—I
dressed with the supers—and showed me a pink
three-cornered note that a lady had sent, round
to him from the boxes. It was an invitation to
go and see her at her own house. I heard
nothing more of this for a month, when Joey come
in again one night, and said:

"Alf, old boy, I'm going to be married."

"Who to?" says I.