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SHOWMAN
only by working on the Turk's inordinate fear of policemen, who seemed to symbolize all his terror of this barbarous America. So the Frenchman had hired a fellow to dress up in a stage policeman's uniform, with lots of brass buttons, to give the Turk the works whenever he got out of hand. I had to resort to that gag only once— the time in Cincinnati when the Turk refused to go into the ring because he said he felt sick. I got a cop to come into the dressing-room and threaten him with a nightstick a couple of times and he knuckled under. After his own fashion, that is. He did go into the ring, but all he did in it was to throw his man down and lie on him for almost two hours without moving himself or letting the other fellow move— until midnight when, according to law, the show had to stop.
I've handled lions, prizefighters, actors, prima donnas, cakewalkers, mimic wars and miniature battleships, but I never met anything as out of drawing as this gigantic Mussulman. He always insisted on being paid in gold— French gold— and kept it in a money-belt round his waist. He kept that belt on even in the ring. The extra weight came in very handy in his favorite stunt of lying on his man to weaken him before finishing him off. The only time he took it off was when one of his opponents found out about it and threatened to cancel the match unless the Turk came into the ring without it. And he couldn't have spent more than five dollars a month out of his pay. According to our agree
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