“Come back if you can, Doc!”
“I think by the way you and Alexander Dent are starting in, you may need me before you get through,” replied Horne, already untying his horse from the fence nearby. When the laughter had again subsided, Livermore continued.
“An’ there’s only two o’ that old brigade left here to-night,” he said, “myself and Alec Dent.”
The musician’s name was greeted by a loud hand-clapping to which he responded by rising from his chair and executing a deep salaam.
“Mind the lids, Alec,” continued Livermore. “I bet Alec ain’t forgot them hoop skirts.”
“Why, no,” affirmed the musician in a clear, bass voice, as he seated himself. “Them was the fantastic days, Rastus. It was right on this floor I met the woman that’s been bossin’ me around ever since. Them was the days!”
“Now, folks,” said the host, “With these few openin’ words, I’ll call on our old friend to play a cotillion, an’ I want everybody to light right in an’ hoe ’er down till mornin’! Joe Hanson, the man on the right with the false teeth, is goin’ to call off, a-standin’ on the wood-box, an’ I want to see the young folks get well het up. Ready, Alec?”
The butt of his bow was poised over the strings of his violin, his head nestled down to the instrument, his toe lifted preparatory to the opening note. He nodded.
“Then let her go!”
The thrilling call of the violin immediately drew four sets to occupy their places on the kitchen floor—tall, sun-burned youths with coats cast aside, smiling at their partners who quivered with eagerness to be started. Mauney and Miss McGee were unable to gain entrance, but collided with Amos Blancher, a husky fellow to whom she had evidently promised the first dance. He demanded an explanation.