The Circus of Dr. Lao Read Free Page B

Etaoin.
     "My glasses are kinda dusty," said the proofreader, "but it looks to me like a man that walks like a bear."
     "Well, I say it's a bear what walks like a man," said the first business man facetiously. "Man that walks like a bear . . . haw, haw. That's pretty good! Where's he going to walk to in that cage? Huh?"
     "Why, it's a Russian, isn't it?" asked the old lady.
     "Good Lord, woman," said Bill, "we ain't that bad yet here in Arizona. We don't pen Russians up and put 'em on display with animals; that is, not yet we don't."
     "Here, now," said the first man to Bill; "don't talk to a lady that way. You said it was a man yourself, didn't you? What difference does it make whether it's a Russian or not? You got to excuse him, lady."
     "I don't give a damn whether it's a Russian or an Eskimo or a Democrat!" said Bill. "By God, it ain't no bear, and that's that"
     "Well, I never heard such language in all my life!" announced the old lady. "If that's western chivalry for you, the sooner I get back to Sedalia the better!"
     Mr. Etaoin, to make conversation, said: "What kind of a donkey is it pulling the last wagon?"
     "Why, it's just a common ordinary everyday good-for-nothing lousy lowdown jackass of a donkey," said Bill truculently. "I ain't going to get in no argument about him, fellah. I'm sorry, lady, for speaking the way I did. I don't feel so good this morning."
     The little boy piped up: "It's a burro, isn't it, mister?"
     "Have it your own way, lad. I don't care if it's a walrus."
     "How come it's so doggone yellow?" asked the first man.
     "It looks like it was made of gold," said the old lady brightly.
     Bill started to laugh. "Haw, haw, haw! The golden ass! The golden ass!"
     Bill's companion took his arm. "Come on, Bill; let's go. Folks are beginning to look at you funny."
     "Are people all like that in Abalone?" the old lady asked Mr. Etaoin.
     "No, not all of 'em," he apologized. "Just one or two now and then."
         The two college youths from back East came out of their hotel and climbed into their old touring car; Slick Bromiezchski driving, Paul Conrad Gordon giving advice: "Choke it, boy; choke hell out of it."
     The car started and they got as far as Main Street when a red light halted them. Then the parade came along and halted them some more.
     "There's the circus," said Slick. "Where's the peepshow float?"
     "Patience," said Paul Conrad. "They don't put their peepshows on parade. This is only the teaser to the main dish."
     "Sure is a hell of a parade," said Slick. "Old Chink with one foot in the grave; Christlike looking personage; and that guy made up to look like Rodin's Faun — or am I thinking of Praxiteles? Anyhow, what do you think of it, Oom Powl?"
     "Rodin's Faun!" said Paul; "that's what I was trying to think of. Afternoon of a faun. Nymphs. You know."
     "Sure. But why that particular stream of consciousness?"
     "It's the guy with the horns on his head," said Paul. "Suppose he were real?"
     "All right. I'm supposing as hard as I can. Now what?"
     "Well, good Lord, can you imagine a real honest-to-god satyr driving a gold-plated mule down the main drag of a hick town?"
     "Sure. I can imagine anything. What of it?"
     "Oh, nothing. Let's go. Time's flying. We got to get under the influence and make a test case on the circus grounds, you will recall."
         On her way to the Cash and Carry, Mrs. Howard T. Cassan was momentarily held up by the parade.
     "My, what horrid animals," she thought. "I wonder which one is the fortuneteller — which one of the men, that is."
     From a window in an upper apartment over her head a female voice called down: "Excuse me, please, but can you tell from where you are whether that's a man or a bear in the second