“It’s a show boat,” another cried, taking in our stage and seats with a pair of busy eyes.
“The greatest show of its kind an earth,” Scoop told the curious ones. “Kermann, the master magician of the age. Makes tables appear and disappear right before your very eyes. Carries a human head on a platter. Don’t miss it, [[84]]fellows. It’s a humdinger of a show. Cheap, too: only ten cents for kids.”
It was good business for us, the leader said, to treat the kids right and answer their questions about the show.
“For they’ll go home,” he explained, “and tell their folks everything we’ve said. Then, of course, the whole family will want to see what the show’s like.”
When the Sally Ann was securely tied to the dock, Scoop and I started down the main street in search of the mayor. His office, we were told upon inquiry, was in the town hall.
A short, fat man with a friendly face, we took a liking to the executive as soon as we set eyes on him. There was something about him that gave us confidence in him.
“Well, boys,” he smiled, “what can I do for you this morning?”
Scoop, as spokesman, explained about our show.
“Um.… You say it’s a boys’ show?”
“There’s four of us in it.”