"You were all having such a love feast
gab-fest when I blew in. This is Mr. Orde, who bosses this place--and
most of the country around here. If you want to do good to humanity on
this meadow you'd better begin by being good to him. He controls it.
He's humanity with a capital H."
Ten minutes later the four men, cigars alight, a bottle within reach,
were sprawling about the interior of one of the larger tents. Bob was
enjoying himself hugely. It was the first time he had ever been behind
the scenes at this sort of game.
"But that was a good talk, just the same," he interrupted a cynical bit
of bragging.
"Say, wasn't it!" cried Porter. "I got that out of a shoutin'
evangelist. The minute I heard it I saw where it was hot stuff for my
spiel. I'm that way: I got that kind of good eye. I'll be going along
the street and some little thing'll happen that won't amount to nothin'
at all really. Another man wouldn't think twice about it. But like a
flash it comes to me how it would fit in to a spiel. It's like an artist
that way finding things to put in a picture. You'd never spot a dago
apple peddler as good for nothing but to work a little graft on mebbe;
but an artist comes along and slaps him in a picture and he's the
fanciest-looking dope in the art collection.
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