“Thank y’, boys,” she says; “thank y’.”
If I’d ’a’ knowed what was a-goin’ to happen next, I’d ’a’ slid out then. But, a-course, I didn’t.
“My friends,” says the Judge, “I will now read the vote for the homeliest man. Monkey Mike received the large count of twenty. But it stands nineteen hunderd and sixty fer–Cupid Lloyd.”
All of a suddent two ’r three fellers had holt of me. And they was a big yell went up–“Cupid! Cupid! The homeliest man! Whee!” The next second, I was goin’ for’ards, but shovin’ back. I hated to have her see me made a fool of. I seen red, I was so mad. I could ’a’ kilt. But she was lookin’ at me, and I was as helpless as a little cat. I put down my haid, and was just kinda dragged up the aisle and onto the platform.
She went down the steps to her seat then. But she didn’t stop. She bent over, picked up her jacket, whispered somethin’ to Rose and, with that Simpson trailin’, went to the back of the hall. There she stopped, kinda half turned, and waited.
I wisht fer a knot-hole that I could crawl through. I wisht a crack in the floor ’d open and let me slip down, no matter if I tumbled into a barrel of molasses below in Silverstein’s. I wisht I was dead, and I wisht the hull blamed bunch of punchers was–Wal, I felt something turrible.
“Cupid!” “You blamed fool!” “Look at him, boys!” “Take his picture!” “Say! he’s a beauty!” Then they hollered like they’d bust they sides, and stomped.
I laughed, a-course,–sickish, though.
The Judge, I reckon, felt kinda ’shamed of hisself. ’Cause I’d helped to sell a heap of medicine, and he knowed it. “That’s all right, Lloyd,” he says; “they ain’t no present fer you. You can vamose–back stairway.”
“Whee-oop!” goes the boys.