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The Water Cure

It was even better’n that. You couldn’t get nothin’ to drink, but they was plenty to see and hear⁠—band concerts, male and female; movin’ pitchers; a zoo; a bowlin’ alley; and more funny-lookin’ people than I ever seen in an amusement park before.

It ain’t a regular amusement park, but fifty-fifty between that and a kind of religious sex that calls themself the Holy Roller Skaters or somethin’. All the men that was old enough to keep a beard had one; and for a minute I thought we’d bumped into the summer home o’ the people that took part in Ada .

They wouldn’t nobody of ever mistook the women for Follies chorus girls. They looked like they was havin’ a prize contest to see which could dress the homeliest; and if I’d been one o’ the judges I’d of split the first prize as many ways as they was women.

“I’m goin’ to talk to some o’ these people,” I told the Wife.

“What for?” she says.

“Well, for one thing,” I says, “I been talkin’ to one person so long I’m tired of it; and, for another thing, I want to find out what the idear o’ the whole concern is.”

So we walked up to one o’ the most flourishin’ beards and I braced him.

“Who owns this joint?” I says.

“All who have the faith,” he says.

“What do they charge a man to join?” I ast him.

“Many’s called and few chosen,” he says.

“How long have you been here?” I ast him.

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