BOBO, the wild man of Borneo, sat in his iron-barred cage reading the morning paper, while he pulled vigorously at a short, black clay pipe.
It was nearly time for the show to begin, so he could only glance hurriedly at the stock report; for Bobo was interested in copper.
On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays there was on exhibition in the side-show connected with Poole Brothers’ Royal Roman Hippodrome and Three-Ring Circus what was widely advertised as the only real wild man in captivity.
On alternate days—that is, on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays—the cage of Bobo was closed by a gaudily painted cover; and visitors on those days were told that the wild man was sick.
Notwithstanding this report, there could be found on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, out in one of the New York suburbs, a middle-aged Irishman named Patsy McLockin. The connection may not at first be evident.
Patsy wasn’t nice looking, even when he was dressed in his best black suit; for, as the people on Blenden Street remarked, he was too hairy.
He used to wear gloves when on the street, even in the hottest weather; but he couldn’t very well wear gloves on his face, though if he could it would have saved the small children of the neighborhood cases of fright both serious and lasting.
Poole Brothers’ Royal Roman Hippodrome and Three Ring Circus was playing a winter engagement in New York City, and had been very successful.
The show was to start in about two weeks for a trip through New England; and since Mrs. Patsy McLockin had consented to remain in the city till the circus came back in the fall, Bobo agreed to exhibit himself every day while on the trip.