Horoscopes, suspenders, iron watch charms, brown cakes that may pass for
maple sugar, ironing wax, laundry soap or penuchia, a book on
Prohibition, mending wax and books of magic are all there. They are not
things which we particularly want, but that's the point. Anyone can sell
things that people want. But these men are professional persuaders of
men against their will whose mission it is to make people want what they
don't want. That's Art.
The horoscope seller must have taken his degree from some college of
venders, his call has such finesse. I cannot reproduce the lilt of it -
"Here's where you get your horoscope, a dime, ten cents." It is
suggestive of the midways of country fairs, shooting galleries on the
Board Walk, and circuses in the springtime. "Here's where you get your
horoscope, a dime, ten cents."
The little, old, blind man sitting there with one hand outstretched and
the other holding a book, his white hair and beard neatly combed,
reminds me of something Biblical and prophetic like pictures in old
churches. Alas! no one seems to buy his story of prohibition. I think he
would do lots better in Kansas or Iowa. A particularly fascinating one
is the man of mending wax who stands before his table like some
professor of chemistry with a tiny flame and saucers of mysterious
powders and, I almost said, a blow pipe.
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