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!”