The Land of the Cow Jumped
over the Moon and the Dish Ran away with the Spoon.
Outside, a moon, something bridal in its whiteness, beat down upon a
kicked-up stretch of beach, the banana-skins, the pop-corn boxes, the
gambados of erstwhile revelers violently printed into its sands. A
platinum-colored sea undulated in.
The leaping, bounding outline of Luna Park winked out even as they
emerged, the whole violent contortion fading back into silver mist.
There was a new breeze, spicily cool.
Miss Hoag breathed out, "Ain't this something grand?"
"Giddy-ap!" cried the Baron, slappity-slappity at the great boulder of
the Granite Jaw's head. "Giddy-ap!"
They plowed forward, a group out of Phantasmagoria--as motley a
threesome as ever strode this side of the Land of Anesthesia.
"How do you like it at Mrs. Bostum's boarding-house, Mr. Jastrow? I
never stop anywheres else on the Island. Most of the Shapiro concession
always stops there."
"Good as the next," said Mr. Jastrow, kicking onward.
"I was sorry to hear you was ailing so last night, Mr. Jastrow, and I
was sorry there was nothing you would let me do for you. They always
call me 'the Doc' around exhibits.
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