Once bitten, twice shy; and Gash Tuttle's fifteen-dollar bite was still raw and bleeding. He started to pull away. "I wouldn't choose to invest in anything more until I'd looked it over," he began. The large man grasped him by his two lapels and broke in on him, drowning out the protest before it was well started. "Who said anything about anybody investin' anything?" he demanded. "Did I? No. Then listen to me a minute--just one minute. I'm in a hurry my own self and I gotta hand you this proposition out fast." Sincerity was in his tone; was in his manner too. Even as he spoke his gaze roved past Gash Tuttle toward the tarpaulin draperies which contributed to their privacy, and he sweat freely; a suetlike dew spangled his brow. There was a noise outside. He listened intently, then fixed a mesmerising stare on Gash Tuttle and spoke with great rapidity and greater earnestness: "You see, I got some other interests here. Besides this pit show, I'm a partner in a store pitch and a mitt-joint; and, what with everything, I'm overworked. That's the God's truth--I'm overworked! What I need is a manager here. And soon as I seen how you handled yourself I says to myself, 'That's the party I want to hire for manager.' What did you say your name was?" "Tuttle--Gashney P. Tut----" "That's enough--the Tuttle part will do for me. Now, Tuttle, set down that there keister of yours--that gripsack--and listen. I gotta go down the street for a half hour--maybe an hour--and I want you to take charge. You're manager while I'm gone--the joint is yours till I git back. And to-night, later on, we'll fix up a deal together. If you think you like the job we'll make a reg'lar arrangement; we'll make it permanent instid of temporary. See?" "But--but----" "But nothin'! I want to find out if my first judgment about you is correct. See? I want to make a test. See? That's it--a test. You ain't goin' to have much to do, first off. The nigger is all right s'long as he gits his dope." He motioned toward the canvas-lined retreat where Osay now dozed heavily among the coils of his somnolent pets. "And Crummy--that's my outside man--kin handle the front and make the spiel, and take in what money comes in. I'll mention to him as I'm leavin' that you're in charge. Probably I'll be back before time for the next blow-off. All you gotta do is just be manager--that's all; and if anybody comes round askin' for the manager, you're him. See?" His impetuosity was hypnotising--it was converting; nay, compelling. It was enough to sweep any audience off its feet, let alone an audience of one. Besides, where lives the male adult between the ages of nine and ninety who in his own mind is not convinced that he has within him the making of a great and successful amusement purveyor? Still, Gash Tuttle hesitated. The prospect was alluring, but it was sudden--so sudden. As though divining his mental processes, the man Fornaro added a clinching and a convincing argument.