The Ocala evening star., 1915-02-06

terribly excited watching the man ride
Oliver, the racing ostrich. On the
way back to town you remember that
you never hear of Alligator Charlie
or Alligator jim, or Bill, or Jack, or
Percy, or AIgernon-its always Ali
gator Joe. You wonder at this and
you also wonder which IS the biggest
liar, the keeper Of the alligator pit
Or him of the ostrich pen.
# you are a real devil and prom
ise to be graveyard, you can get
from the barber-after you have
gained his confidence and proved your
self a sport by loosening up liberal
iy at the end of each shave-a quiet
tip on when and where the next
cock fight Will be pulled off. Out of
regard for the law these are never
held except IN the dead of night on
the far side Of the mountain in
thick clump of trees where the bat
tie lanterns cannot be seen from
town. Those who have been made
wise the day before gather at the
PIT side like the animals went in the
ark, and the birds are matched, the
bets made, the winners announced in
whispers. Then everything disap-
pears like magic an the only sounds
heard on the way home are the
post-mortems of the loosers.
One of the main lines of CONNER
cial activity ranking next, perhaps, to
the vending of bathing accessories, is
the barter and change in walking
sticks, and nowhere can be found big
ger lines showing greater variety in
texture and color than here. They
all run to the shepherds crook pat
tern and substantial tonnage afford
ing at one end and the same time
sure grip and certain support.
Arriving in Hot Springs through the
car window on a stretcher with a
crutch strapped to each side, the pa
tient with rusty joints is transfer
red to the bath house of his choice
and started on his road to Wellville
by the hot water route. In a few
days he is promoted from the stretch
er to wheel chair. By the end of the
second week he rises from the chair
to take up his crutches and walk.
After the twenty-first bath he buys
two sticks. which he carries away in
his trunk as souvenirs after using
them a week or two.
At any rate this is the way they
tell it on the galleries of the hotels
bath and boarding houses over and
over again. If your case does not
pan out like this or near it, no blame
can attach to the tellers of these
stories of marvellous cures. You Just
happen to be an exception-that's
all-and the tales go on forever. Oc-
casionally you meet a man who's been
making the Hot Springs pilgrimage
ever year since Cleveland was elect
ed without getting beyond the crutch
stage of locomotion. This shakes your
confidence in the integrity of these
stories somewhat until you remember
that you never heard about the 20
ker games in which the narrator
came out loser.
Night life in Hot Springs is not
limited in the pursuit Of pleasure to
wiggly dances in the hotel parlors,
cold water cabarets, cafes and cock
fights. Most any night, just by stroll
ing down the street a piece you can
hear the Hambone Troubadours a
quartette Of cornfield niggers armed
with mandolin, guitar, cornet and bass
viol, who play and sing the mourn
ful melodies that furnish, so the crit
les say, the only music Of American
origin. If you listen closely you may
catch verse or so of that tuneful