A little boy lay pale and listless in his small white cot， gazing， with eyes enlarged by fever， straight before him， with the strange look of illness which seems to see already more than is visible to living eyes. His mother sat at the bottom of the bed， watching him， and biting her fingers to keep back a cry； while his father， a strong workman， brushed away his burning tears.
The day was breaking： a calm， clear， lovely day of June. The light began to steal into the poor room where little Francis， the son of James and Mary Grant， lay very near death"s door. He was seven years old； three weeks ago， a fair-haired， rosy little boy， as happy as a bird. But， one night， when he came home from school， his head was giddy and his hands were burning. Ever since， he had lain there in his cot. To-night he did not wander in his mind； but for two days his strange listlessness had alarmed the doctor. He lay there sad and quiet， as if， at seven years old， he was already tired of life， rolling his head upon the bolster， his thin lips never smiling， his eyes staring at one knew not what. He would take nothing-no medicine， no lemonade， no beef-tea.
" Is there anything you would like？ " they asked him. "No， " he answered， "nothing. ""This must be altered， " the doctor said. "This torpor is alarming. You are his parents， and you know him best. Try to discover what will interest and amuse him. " And the doctor went away.
To amuse him！ True， they knew him well， their little Francis. They knew how it delighted him， when he was well， to go into the fields， and to come home， loaded with white hawthorn blossoms， riding on his father"s shoulders. Mr. Grant had already brought him gilded soldiers， and figures to be shown upon a screen. He placed them on the sick child"s bed， made them dance before his eyes， and， scarcely able to keep back his tears， strove to make him laugh.
"Look， there is the broken bridge. Tra-la-la！ And there is a general. You saw one once， don"t you remember？ If you drink your medicine like a good boy， I shall buy you a real one， with a cloth tunic and gold lace. Would you like to have a general？ ""No， " said the sick child， his voice dry with fever.
"Would you like a pistol and bullets， or a bow and arrows？ " "No， " replied the little voice.
And so it was with everything-even with balloons and jumping-jacks. Still， while the parents looked at each other in despair， the little voice replied， "No！ no ！ no ！ "" But what is there you would like， then， darling？ " said his mother. "Come， whisper to me-to mamma. " And she laid her cheek beside him on the pillow.
The sick boy raised himself in bed， and， throwing out his eager hands towards some unseen object， cried out， " I want Slap-bang！ ""Slap-bang ！ " The poor mother looked at her husband with a frightened glance. What was the little fellow saying？ Was the terrible delirium coming back again. " Slap-bang？ " She knew not what that meant. She was frightened at the strangeness of the words， which now the sick boy， with the waywardness that often comes with illness-as if， having screwed his courage up to put his dream in words， he was resolved to speak of nothing else-repeated without ceasing：-"Slap-bang！ I want Slap-bang！ "
"What does he mean？ " she said， grasping her husband"s hand. "Oh！ he is lost！ "But Mr. Grant"s rough face wore a smile of wonder and relief， like that of one condemned to death who sees a chance of liberty.
Slap-bang！ He remembered well the Saturday afternoon when he had taken Francis to the circus. He could hear still the child"s delighted laughter， when the clown-the beautiful clown， all be-starred with golden spangles， and with a huge， many-coloured butterfly glittering on the back of his costume- skipped across the track， tripped up the riding master by the heels， took a walk upon his hands， or threw up to the gas- light the soft felt caps， which he cleverly caught upon his skull， where， one by one， they formed a pyramid； while， at every trick and every jest， his large， droll face expanding with a smile， he uttered the same catchword， sometimes to a roll of music from the band， "Slap-bang！ " And， every time he uttered it， the audience roared， and the little fellow shouted with delight.
Slap-bang！ It was this Slap-bang， the circus clown， he who kept half the town laughing， whom little Francis wished to see， and whom， alas！ he could not see as he lay pale and feeble in his little bed.
That night， Mr. Grant brought the child a jointed clown， ablaze with spangles， which he had bought at a high price. Four days" wages would not pay for it； but he would willingly have given the price of a year"s labour could he have brought a smileDrawn by A. E. Davies
"Tripped up the riding master by the heels. "to the thin lips of the sick boy.
The child looked， for a moment， at the toy which sparkled on the bed quilt. Then he said sadly， "That is not Slap-bang. I want to see Slap-bang！ "If only the father could have wrapped him in the bedclothes， borne him to the circus， shown him the clown dancing under the blazing gas-lights， and said， " Look there ！ "But Mr. Grant did better still. He went to the circus， obtained the clown"s address， and then， with legs tottering with nervousness， climbed slowly up the stairs which led to the great man"s rooms. It was a bold task to undertake. Yet actors， after all， go sometimes to recite or sing at rich men"s houses. Who knew but that the clown， at any price he liked， would consent to go to say good-bye to little Francis？
But was this Slap-bang， this charming person who received himin his cosy study， in the midst of books and beautiful pictures. Mr. Grant looked hard at him， and could not recognize the clown. He turned and twisted his felt hat between his fingers. The other waited. At last the poor fellow began to stammer out excuses ： " It was unpardonable-a thing unheard of-that he had come to ask； but the fact was， it was about his little boy- such a pretty little boy， sir！ and so clever！ Always first in his class-except in arithmetic， which he did not understand. A dreamy little chap-too dreamy- as you may see "-Mr. Grant stopped and stammered； then， screwing up his courage， he continued with a rush- " as you may see by the fact that he wants to see you， that he thinks of nothing else， that you are before him always like a star which he has set his mind on--"The poor man stopped. Great beads stood on his forehead， and his face was very pale. He dared not look at the clown， whose eyes were fixed upon him. What had he dared to ask the great Slap-bang？ What if the latter took him for a madman， and showed him to the door？
"Where do you live？ " demanded Slap-bang. "Oh， close by； " and he gave the address.
"Come！ " said the other； " the little fellow wants to see Slap- bang-well， he shall see him. "When the door opened before the clown， the father cried out joyfully， "Cheer up， Francis！ Here is Slap- bang. "The child"s face beamed with expectation. He raised himself upon his mother"s arm， and turned his head towards the two men as they entered. Who was the gentleman in an overcoat beside his father， who smiled good-naturedly， but whom he did not know？ "Slap- bang， " they told him. It was all in vain. His head fell slowly back upon the pillow， and his great， sad blue eyes seemed to look out again beyond the narrow chamber walls， in search， unceasing search， of the spangles and the butterfly of the Slap-bang of his dreams.
"No， " he said， in weary tones； " no， this is not Slap- bang. "The clown， standing by the little bed， looked gravely down upon the child with infinite kind-heartedness. He shook his head， and， looking at the anxious father and the mother in her agony， said smiling， "He is right. This is not Slap-bang. " And he left the room.
"I shall not see him； I shall never see him again， " said the child， softly.
But half an hour had not passed since the clown had d i s a p p e a r e d w h e n ， a l l a t o n c e ， t h e d o o r w a s s h a r p l y opened， and behold， in his spangled tunic， the yellow tuft upon his head， the golden butterfly upon his back， a large smile opening his mouth like a money-box， his face white with flour， Slap-bang， the true Slap-bang， theDrawn by A. E. Davies
"Bravo， slap-bang."
Slap-bang of the circus burst into view. And， in his little white cot， with the joy of life in his eyes， laughing， crying， happy， saved， the little fellow clapped his feeble hands， and， with the recovered gaiety of seven years old， cried out ：-"Bravo！ Bravo， Slap-bang！ It is he this time ！ This is Slap- bang ！ Long live Slap-bang！ Bravo！ "When the doctor called that day， he found， sitting beside the little patient"s pillow， a white-faced clown， who kept him in a constant ripple of laughter， and who was observing， as he stirred a lump of sugar to the bottom of a glass of cooling drink， " You know， Francis， if you do not drink your medicine， you will never see Slap-bang again. "And the child drank up the draught. "Is it not good？ ""Very good. Thank you， Slap-bang. "
" Doctor， " said the clown to the physician， " do not be jealous， but it seems to me that my tomfooleries have done more good than your medicines. "The poor parents were both crying； but， this time， it was with joy.
From that time till little Francis was on foot again， a carriage pulled up， every day， before the workman"s door； a man got out， wrapped in a great-coat with the collar turned up to his ears， and， underneath， dressed as for the circus， with his face white with flour.
"What do I owe you， sir？ " said Mr. Grant to the good clown，on the day when Francis left the house for the first time. "For I really owe you everything ！ "The clown extended to the parents his two huge hands. "A shake of the hand， " he said with a smile. Then， kissing the little boy on both his pale cheeks， he added， laughing， "And leave to print on my visiting cards，" Slap-bang， clown-doctor， physician to little Francis ！""Adapted from a translation， in The Strand Magazine， of the French story "Boum Boum， " written by Jules Claretie. In the original， Boum Boum (boom) is the name of the clown.
Author-Jules Claretie， pen-name of Arsène Arnaud， a popular French writer， born in 1840， died 1913. He was in the siege of Paris in 1870. He wrote many books and became a member of the French Academy.
General.-Would this be a fit title for the story， "Laughter the BestMedicine "？ What was the character of the father？ What was the character of the clown？ Why are children so interested in circuses？ Is this a tender story or a funny story？ Which part of it do you like best？ What kind of man must Jules Claretie have been？ Do you think he called the parents "Mr. and Mrs. Grant " and the boy "Francis "？ His name for the clown was "Boum-Boum. " Would you like to learn French？ Why？