The Pulaskian., 1915-08-20

times and in other places has care of what he eats, to order one with the rest of the crowd, and to work his way along the street with it in his hand, eating it as the others are do- ing. Sometimes the faces above the hot dogs seem incongruous enough. They are the faces of those who arc intelligent as to dietetics, but have been swept on past the bounds of cail- tion by the enthusiasm of Coney's surging multitude
 Mob Spirit and the Tickler.
 The mob spirit in the place is con- tagious. What else would have per suaded that dignified, elderly man to buy a ticket for the Mammoth Tick Ter or for this contrivance which huris you about at break-neck speed rack ing your nerves as you sit crouched i'll seats just large enough for two. Sometimes the watchers see some of the merrymakers come off that roller coaster with a white line about the mouth and strained look in their eyes. It IS not their instinctive idea of pleasure to be rushed down a steep slope with such terrible force that their breath is beaten out of them and they gasp and cringe. But what if they are pale and shaky as they step off, there is an expression in the lin0 of their closely drawn lips which shows that they have determined that what must be must be, and they are on pleasure bent, suffer what torturoo they may. s&
 Here on the right is a moving-pic- ture show, and, not content with that, the management has contrived to add to 1t music, singing and dancing. No where else than Coney can such com bination of pleasures be found. As| one dances, 1t is the easiest thing in the world to catch enough of a glimpse of the picture over one's partners shoulder, to follow the thrilling narrar tive of the screen, and no one could miss note of the piercing tune which the blonde at the piano is rendering.
 Coney, on the afternoon of Juno Sunday, is gay and thrilling place gay and thrilling for grownups. Just there is the secret It is the fairyland, the place where adults may have .. perpetual picnic To tell the truth, children do not care so much about 1t. Given pail and shovel out on the sands, the small child will be happy the whole day long at Coney, but the grOwnup must needs enter the side shows and ride the coaster.
 Playground of Adults.
 The fact that this was the playland of adults came over me after seeing some hundreds of children on thiG particular Sunday afternoon. who were plainly there just because their fa- thers and mothers had wanted to come. Never have I seen such utter boredom and weariness written on any faces as was depicted on those of the many children who pushed their tired way along, down among the knees of the crowd, while their elders, with their heads in the air, took in the de- lights of the place. Some were being carried, too utterly exhausted to do anything but droop heavily over their fathers shoulder, not caring to open an eye to see the snake-charmer n the parent stopped fascinated before her.
 You couldn't help seeing on the train coming home that it was the pa rents, not the children, who must have wanted to come and for whom Coney Island was a wonderland. The former lay limp in their parents laps, sound asleep. while the grownups talked and laughed over their heads. It was the children who had been patient and long-suffering, and it was the parents who had really enjoyed themselves. A small boy, with light hair, snub nose, and a freshly freckled faces buries his head deeper in the curve of his mothers arms and gives a lonG, sleepy sigh as his parents crunch crackerjack over his unconscioue IT. tle head. 1