One guy threw in wallet and all!
Lookin' at these crazy people, I seen they was all talkin'. And they looked like they was talkin' to theirselves, cuz nobody turned a head, just kept starin', all glassy-eyed, like they was doped up.
The old guy that threw in his whole wallet was sayin' somethin' like: "This is the finest performance of scar-laddy I've ever heard. Positively brilliant!" There was a skinny kid standin' next to the old gent, and his lips was movin' fast. "Jeepers!" he was sayin', "real dixieland." And his buddy was standin' there, tappin' his feet and yellin', "Hear that boogie beat! Man! That's Albert Ammons and Pete Johnson at their best!"
A little ways in, a fat guy, standin' on somebody's panama hat, says, "Show-pan! I just love show-pan." His big, flabby lips was slappin' together hard. The big, chesty old lady with him had one o' them little wrinkled-up mouths, and I could hardly make out what she was sayin', cuz her lips didn't hardly move at all when she talked, but it was somethin' like, "Chambah music, my deah. So lovely."
Ev'rybody's mouth was goin'—ev'rybody I looked at was sayin' somethin' about music. And they all looked like they was havin' the time of their life.
And they kept right on shellin' out as I moved along through 'em!
Then I gets to the edge of the crowd, and I spot what they're all starin' at—it's nobody but my old friend, Queerpants, the nice guy that helped me on Fifty-ninth Street when I took that spill!
He's standin' out there in the middle o' the field with his back to the crowd, wavin' his arms around like crazy. Looked just like he was leadin' a band. Queerest thing I ever seen—cuz there ain't nothin' in front o' him, exceptin' trees and grass.
A coupla minutes later, he throws his hands down, like he's stoppin' somethin', and then he turns around towards the crowd and bends over real low.
And the crowd goes nuts. Their mouths are wide open, screamin' and yellin', and they're clappin' their hands like they was at a circus or somethin'.