THAT doorway was solidly banked with banners frescoed in gaudy colors
and roughly painted; they advertised a show within. A few glances I had
time to give while I walked toward the man who had hailed me, revealed
that there were on tap such features as “Petrified Mormon Giant,”
“Siamese Susie,” “Mammoth Peruvian Cockatoo,” and others. Over the door
was heralded in big letters: “Dawlin’s Mammoth Wonder Show.”
I guessed that the man in the doorway might be Dawlin. He wore a
corduroy suit, with gaiters, and a broad-brimmed cowboy hat was canted
on one side of his head. By the way in which he was looking me over I
could see that I was suiting him.
“Hitched up with a show?” he asked.
I told him that I was not, and I said it with considerable curtness. To
be sure, the personality and garb of Showman Shrady had formed my early
ideal, and I ought to have felt gratified, I suppose, when this man
took me for a showman. But I was pricked a little by the thought that my
appearance seemed to grade me on that plane. “Want to hitch on?”
“What makes you think I’m in the show business?”
“I had you sized that way on account of the scenery.” I gathered that he
meant my clothes.
“I don’t see any circus signs on this suit of mine,” I told him.
“Oh, say, I didn’t mean to offend--but it’s usually only sports and
professionals who tog that way down in this part of the town. If you’re
a gent you seem to be off your beat.”
There was nothing offensive about the man--he seemed a good-humored chap
who was a little cheeky.
“Well, what if I had been a showman--what about it?”
“I was going to offer you a lay--here at the door.”
“Selling tickets?”
“Good gad, no, man! I want you for the spiel--for the
oratory--tongue-work--hooking the hicks! You’re rigged out just right.
You must know that the better the front we put on at the door, the
better the business inside! But excuse me if I got the tags shifted!”
I swung my cane with one hand and with the other hand in my pocket
sifted coins through my fingers. There were not many coins. I needed
more in a hurry. It had been impressed on me that in spite of all my
pride in my attire I did not look like a “gent”; it was certain that
I did not feel like one. Disappointment was curdling pride in me; my
clothes had gone back on me. I entertained a sort of a grudge against
them. All of a sudden I made up my mind to get back at those garments
which had cost me so much money and now repaid me in contentment so
niggardly.
“It would be all new business for me. Can I do it, do you suppose?” I
asked the man.
“Looks are half the battle. You’ve got capital in your clothes to start
with. You don’t look like a souse! The last two I have had on the door
pawned their rigs for rum. I’ve got the patter stuff all written out.
All you’ve got to do is study it and reel it off like you used to recite
pieces in school.”
“What’s the pay?”
Seeing surrender in my face, he winked and crooked his finger in
invitation to me to follow him inside. He led me into a narrow little
office. He offered a drink and a cigar, and I refused both.
“Gee! Some principles, hey? Now, if you’re a church member I reckon you
won’t stand for the lay!”
“I’m devilish far from being a church member,” I told him.
“I don’t like to open up too much till I know a little something about
you. Can you tell me?”