“Ladies an’ gen’leman,” Simpson announced, “I’m from Texas. I’m from
Texas where they valyoo friendship more _than_ money. An’ what I’m
goin’ to tell yuh is between _man an’ man_.” He straightened up with
dignity. “I’m the _pro_-prietor o’ this show. I’m monarch of all I
survey.”
He waved his hand from the display of his wife’s shoulders in the
ticket office to the oil canvases of the Indian nautch girls, the
skeleton man, the “Wizard of the West,” the “Demon Diavolo” eating
fire, and the “Modern Samson” lifting ton weights--to the three Queens
of the Harem, sitting on the platform with “Shine,” under the flare of
a gasoline “torch”--to the curtained door that led into the “Alhambra
of Mystic Marvels and Persian Beauty Show.”
He screamed with a sudden inconsequent passion: “I don’t hire men to
come out here an’ lie to yuh! No! I’m tryin’ to make an hones’ livin’
fer myself an’ the fines’ comp’ny o’ _per_formers that ever appeared
together under one management on Coney Island!” He wiped his forehead.
He lowered his voice. “An’ to tell youse the truth, boys, it’s the
toughest proposition I ever went up against.”
It was a Saturday night, and the Island walks were crowded. “Shine”
was looking down on a throng of white faces and eyes that shone in the
light. They laughed.
“I know!” Simpson cried. “Yuh’ve been faked. Yuh’ve been payin’ good
money to see a lot o’ ham-fatters an’ chair-warmers--a lot o’ stiffs
that couldn’t get hired fer a supper-show up in the city. Ain’t that
right?”
One of his “boosters” in the back of the crowd shouted, “That’s what’s
the matter!”
Simpson threw up his hands. “That’s it! That’s it! An’ because I don’t
come out here an’ promise to give yuh more ’n I got, yuh don’t believe
me. An’ I got the bes’ show on the Island, barrin’ an’ exceptin’
_none_! A show that on’y costs one dime to witness--an’ it’s worth a
dollar if it’s worth a cent!”
He made a sign to the platform. “Shine” and the three beauties in
tights and tinsel stood up. One of the latter was chewing gum with a
pensive movement of the under jaw.
“First an’ foremost, let me tell yuh,” he said, “I got Kulder, the
Hindoo snake-charmer, sword-swallower, an’ fire-eater.” He pointed to
“Shine.” “Bein’ a native o’ Calcutter, where he was employed by the
Hindoo fire-department, he was kicked out three years ago by the Durbar
because he wouldn’t turn water on a blaze. No! He wanted t’ eat the
flames!”
The crowd grinned. “Shine” scowled.
Simpson went on: “He’ll drink anythin’ from boiled bay rum to knockout
drops. He’ll walk barefoot from here to the Batt’ry to get a look at a
fire-boat. He’s the simplest an’ sulkiest an’ treacherest damn fool of
a Hindoo that ever put up a game on a partner. An’ he don’t understan’
a word yuh say!”
“Shine” muttered to himself. Simpson launched out into a glowing
description of the Beauties of his Persian Harem. He could not bring
them all out on the platform. The police, he whispered, would not let
him. But excepting the secret palace of the Sultan of Turkey, there was
nothing to equal it on this side of Madagascar! Nuthin’!
As for the canvases overhead, they spoke for themselves. They
represented “truthfully an’ without _ex_-aggeration” a small part of
the mystic marvels to be seen on the inside for the small price of a
dime, ten cents. “A dime! A dime!” he cried. “All free fer a dime!”
The boy struck up a staggering melody on the mechanical piano. “Shine”
and the Beauties retreated through the curtains. The “boosters”
began to shove the crowd in towards the ticket office in a pretence
of eagerness to get good seats for themselves, confiding to their
neighbors that they had heard it was “the goods, all right, inside.”
They paid and passed in; and at least a score of gulls followed them
with more or less doubtfulness.
That was the first “push,” and it was Simpson’s habit to make two
“pushes” before he gave his performance.
While he was inside, waiting for a new audience to gather out in front,
“Shine” accosted him again. “Are yuh goin’ to gi’ me them boots?”
“Sure thing,” he promised airily. “Soon ’s I get good an’ ready.”
“Shine” nodded and went back to his place behind the curtains. Simpson
saw nothing new in the fireman’s manner. He had been taunting “Shine”
all afternoon with platform insults--which “Shine” had endured in
silence because he had not understood them--and Simpson had mistaken
stupor for meekness.
The net was spread for the second “push” in the same manner as for
the first, though in briefer language, for there was now an impatient
roomful inside, listening.
“An’ here,” Simpson cried, “we have the famous Hindoo snake-charmer. A
pure Brahma--look at his feet. This man, ladies an’ gen’lemen, lives on
dope! He wears no socks. Why? Why does he wear no socks? _Be_-cause he
swapped them this mornin’ fer a quart o’ knockout drops! While ’n under
th’ influence o’ that noxious drug, he’ll swally anythin’--live fire,
nails, carpet tacks, jollies er anythin’ else yuh throw into him. He--”
“Are yuh goin’ to gi’ me them boots?” “Shine” growled.
The crowd heard him and drew in closer, scenting trouble. Simpson heard
him and veered off. “An’ next we have three ladies from th’ Imperial
Harem o’ Madagascar--”
“Are yuh goin’ to gi’ me them boots?”
Simpson raised his voice to drown the laughter. “Three o’ the faires’
flowers in Eastern womanhood! On th’ inside we have no less ’n
twenty-seven--”
“He’s a liar!” “Shine” shouted to the crowd. “He’s a liar. He’s got
nuthin’ at all inside. He’s a liar an’ a fakir. He promised me a pair
o’ boots! He’s a liar an’ a fakir! He’s--”
Simpson leaped on him. The three frightened Beauties jumped screaming
into the arms of the crowd. In another minute the whole front of the
“Alhambra” was shaking with the uproar of a riot.
[Illustration: _The blaze, caught at close range, seemed to snuff out_