Thus I wandered, lost and none too happy, amid a jumble of carts and
waggons, carriages and country wains, of booths and stalls and tents;
amid a restless, seething crowd of people who pushed and strove more
or less good-naturedly. Among all these unfamiliar sights and sounds I
ranged disconsolate, awed by the vast concourse, deafened by the
universal uproar, and not a little disgusted by the coarse humour and
rough horse-play of this truly motley throng.
On I went, a lost soul, pushed and jostled; past rows of gaudy tents
and shows, each with its platform before it, where men and women, in
outlandish livery and spangled tights, danced and sang, cracked broad
jokes, beat drums, blew horns, or strove to out-roar each other in
crying up their respective wares and wonders. One in especial drew my
notice,--a stout, bull-necked Stentor in mighty cocked hat, whose
brassy voice boomed and bellowed high above the din, so that I paused
to observe him in wondering disgust.
"In meat alone--in meat alone!" he roared. "Will eat 'is weight in
meat alone! The famous and fab'lous Franko o' Florence, the
fire-eatin', flame-swallerin', fat feller as weighs thirty-two stone
if a hounce--seein's believin'--and all for a tanner--a tanner!
Sixpence an' no more! Come and see Franko the fattest feller o'
Florence as will eat fire, devour glass and swaller swords, and all
for sixpence--for sixpence! See Franko as will dance ye a hornpipe,
breakdown or double-shuffle wi' helegance and hease, bein' nippy, neat
and nimble though weighin' thirty-two stone, seein's believin'--and
all for a tanner--a tanner! Walk up, ladies and gents, an' don't be
shy; walk up an' shake 'ands wi' Franko the fab'lous fat feller as can
sing ye, dance ye, tell fortun's, forecast the future, cast
'orrer-scopes, strike na-tivities or stand on 'is 'ead--and all for
sixpence--for sixpence!"
In this fashion, or much like it, he held forth tirelessly until,
chancing to meet my wide-eyed gaze, he immediately singled me out for
his remarks thus:
"Wot O, my Lord, wot O! You in the nobby 'at an' patched
unmentionables--wot O! Walk up, Tom-noddy, my lord, walk up and spend
a tanner; never mind your breeches, walk up an' see the stoopendious
fat feller as could swaller ye, breeches, patches, 'at an' all, an'
never blink a heyelid--a man as can swaller 'is wight in meat
alone--in meat alone!
Walk up, my lord, an' see Franko
Breeches or no, my lord, breeches or no!"
This sorry and meaningless jingle set the immediate crowd in a roar.
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