It's an exciting picture, I assure you, Miss Lansdale.

The net looks flimsy, and the wild person is not only enraged but very muscular--" "I fail to see," she interrupted, with a slight lapse into what I may call her first, or Lansdale, manner.
"Of course you fail! You have to go inside to see," I explained kindly.
"But it only costs a dime, which is little enough--the hired enthusiast, indeed, stationed just outside the entrance, reminds us over and over again that it is only 'the tenth part of a dollar,' and he sometimes adds that 'it will neither make nor break nor set a man up in business.' He is a flagrant optimist in small money matters, ever looking on the bright side." "Inside ?" suggested my listener, with some impatience.

I had regretted my beginning and had meant to shirk a finish if she would let me; but it seemed I must go on.
"Well, inside there's a hand-organ going all the time, you know--" "The wild man ?" she insisted, like a child looking ahead for the real meat of the story one is telling it.
"I'm getting to him as fast as I consistently can.

The wild man sits tamely in a cheap chair on a platform, with a row of his photographs spread charmingly at his feet.

Of course you are certain at once that he is no longer wild.