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SHOWMAN
show was gone just when we needed it most. Business was bad enough anyway.
But we were all having a good time at the Fair, so it didn't matter much. Corbett in particular was enjoying himself hugely. There were two men who caused palpitations of the heart in all lady visitors to the Midway. One was Corbett, lean, handsome, magnetic. The other was a Sudanese, an item in the polyglot collection of nationalities which was on display along with the farm implements and the dynamos and the cooch dancing. They had got together South Sea Islanders, African cannibals, Eskimos, tag-ends of races from Central Asia, besides representatives of all civilized nations. And the Sudanese was the jewel of the collection —tall and slender, with the finest eyes I ever saw in a human head, long, waving black hair oiled up to the nines, a profile like a Greek coin and a chocolaty, velvety skin which was perfectly set off by a kind of milkwhite toga he wore. A black greyhound of a man.
Pretty soon Corbett had picked himself out one special girl to pay attention to— a red-headed colleen from the Irish exhibit, pretty as a picture. And it was presently evident that the Sudanese also thought she was pretty nice. He never said a word to her, just mooned round and struck highly effective poses and let his liquid eyes rest on her mighty obviously. The whole Fair was talking about it in no time, but the Irish girl and Corbett paid little attention.
The blow-off came in the big cafe where the person
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