The menagerie prepared for its performance by splendid processions. Caparisoned in gold the elephants marched around. There were horses of all colours and of all sizes, dromedaries, rhinoceroses, black men and white monkeys, bands of musicians, fairy chariots.
The inhabitants saw the gorgeous procession pass with indifference, with a superior kind of air and without the least enthusiasm.
On the evening of the first performance, in spite of the placards, processions, bands, notices, and illuminations, nobody appeared at the ticket-office of the theatre and they played to an empty house.
"What," cried the impresario, tearing his hair. "Crowds flocked to me in London, Paris, St. Petersburg, and New York. 48 I have been congratulated by the Shah of Persia, invited to lunch by the Grand Turk, and this little hole despises me, mocks at me, considers me a failure."
The lights out, Sir Booum spent a terrible night, wondering what evil genius could thus attack his laurels. At dawn, worn 49 out by his sleepless night, he set out, eager to learn the cause of his failure.
All those whom he met winked knowingly, laughing in their sleeves, and courtesied to him without giving him any information. At last one, touched by his despair, answered:
"Why should we come to you? We have here in this very place, where we can see it for nothing, a marvel beside which yours are commonplace. Have you in your menagerie a curly-haired hen?"
"A curly-haired hen!" cried Sir Booum. "Gracious, goodness me! What are you talking about? Three times have I been round the world and have never heard of such a thing."