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’ performers 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!”