But For All The Nine-Jointed Impressiveness Of Its Title This Park
Was A Live, Brisk Little Park Full Of
Sideshow tents sheltering
mildly amusing, faked-up attractions, with painted banners flapping
in the air and barkers spieling before the
Entrances and all the
ballyhoos going at full blast - altogether a creditable imitation
of a street fair as witnessed in any American town that has a good
live Elks' Lodge in it.
Plainly the place was popular. Germans of all conditions and all
ages and all sizes - but mainly the broader lasts - were winding
about in thick streams in the narrow, crooked alleys formed by the
various tents. They packed themselves in front of each booth where
a free exhibition was going on, and when the free part was over
and the regular performance began they struggled good-naturedly
to pay the admission fee and enter in at the door.
And, for a price, there were freaks to be seen who properly belonged
on our side of the water, it seemed to me. I had always supposed
them to be exclusively domestic articles until I encountered them
here. There was a regular Bosco - a genuine Herr He Alive Them
Eats - sitting in his canvas den entirely surrounded by a choice
and tasty selection of eating snakes. The orthodox tattooed man
was there, too, first standing up to display the text and accompanying
illustrations on his front cover, and then turning round so the
crowd might read what he said on the other side.
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