Queerpants bends over a couple times more, then he swings around again, sorta taps the air in front o' him, stretches his arms up over his head for a second, and then starts slingin' 'em around again.
Right away, everybody shuts their traps and goes to starin' again. They all look like they been cryin'—but happy like.
I'm standin' there, tryin' to figger how maybe it's some kinda gag, and there's maybe a band hidin' back in the trees or somethin' like that, when outta the corner o' my eye I spots this cop comin' towards me.
I ducks back into the crowd real fast and starts stuffin' all the dough into my pockets. Soon's the hat's empty, I takes a peek back through the crowd, and there's the blue-coat, rockin' back on his heels with a big grin spread on his fat face.
This, I hadda see, so I moves over, real quiet like, and his mouth is goin' like sixty. "It's the old Killarney," he's sayin', "Bejasus! Oi've niver heard the like. Me poor old mither should be here now. God bless the man!"
And all the time, the crowd's gettin' bigger and bigger. Cars stop along the road, a couple people ride over on horses, two women with baby carriages pushes in, and a big guy with glasses, carryin' about ten books, drops them on the grass and starts clenchin' his fists.
Now I see Queerpants is takin' a bow again, and ev'rybody's beatin' their hands.
All of a sudden, Queerpants jumps around and takes off towards the woods, hoppin' across the grass like a rabbit, and wavin' his arms around again as he goes.
Lucky I'm on the outside, or I woulda been trampled. It was like somebody yelled "Fire!" in a movie. The whole mob beats it across the grass, knockin' into each other, ev'rybody tryin' to get ahead.