tinent questions when that eloquent official came out on the platform to eulogize the acts that were to be "witnessed on the inside fer a dime, ten cents." As soon as the spieler concluded his harangue with "Step this way to the box office," Tower said to Don: "Well, it's only a dime. Come on. Let's have some fun with them"; and as he made his way to the wicket—taking care to press forward those in front of him with a persuasive shoulder—he started a current towards the entrance and drew behind him a following of smiling sightseers who wished to hear him "have soms fun" with the performance. Once inside the main hall, with its "side-show" array of booths and small stages, Don and he disappeared behind the curtains of the exit, where the manager returned them their dimes and let them out on the street again for the next "push."
All this occurred with a bewildering rapidity that made it rather difficult for Don to understand; he was puzzled by Tower's part in it; he did not think about his own. "Do you do this every day?" he asked.
"No," Tower said, turning him up the street again. "I haven't done it since I first came to town—six years ago."
"You're doing it to show me how?"
"Principally. Yes."
Don flushed with gratitude. "Thanks."
"Well," Tower said, "it isn't a highly respectable job, I suppose, but I couldn't think of anything else—on the spur of the moment—anything that you can do. And the show is worth ten cents. It isn't as if you were doing it for one of those fake 'fronts' down the street."
