His skin was dark
brown and rough with warts. His hair, which was really a wig, hung in
tangled snarls over his eyes. He gnashed his teeth, clenched his fists,
and every few moments he uttered a terrific yell at which timid patrons
of the show promptly retired to the far side of the tent.
When Willis and I approached the cage, a smile suddenly broke across the
Wild Man's face, and he nodded to us. "You were the fellows with the
hogs, weren't you?" he said in very good English. I can hardly describe
what a shock that gave us.
"Why, why--aren't you from the wilds of Borneo?" Willis asked him in low
tones.
"Thunder, no!" the Wild Man replied confidentially. "I don't even know
where it is. I'm from over in Vermont--Bellows Falls."
"But--but--you do look pretty savage!" stammered Willis in much
astonishment.
"You bet!" said the Wild Man. "Ain't this a dandy rig? It gets 'em, too.
But don't give me away; I get a good living out of this."
Just then a group of spectators came crowding forward, and the Wild Man
let out a howl that brought them to an appalled halt. The keepers
brandished their axes.
"Well, did you ever?" Willis muttered as we moved on.
Pages:
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304