An open space on the edge of the forest.
In the centre of the clearing a small gaudily-painted tent.
Seated on the ground in a semicircle before the tent, some forty or fifty Indians.
Standing on a box before the entrance to the tent, a man of twenty-five or fifty.
In his left hand he holds a fog horn; in his right, a stein of beer.
He puts the horn to his lips and blows heavy blast.
He bellows, "Beauty—Beauty—Beauty!"
He takes a drink of beer.
He repeats this performance nine times.
He takes up some mud and deftly models the features of several well-known characters—statesmen, writers, critics. In many cases the resemblance is so slight that Priscilla can hardly recognize the character.