Don't you like the fife-and-drum corps? The fifes set my teeth on edge, but I could follow the drums all day with their:
Tucket a brum, brum brum-brum, tuck-all de brum
Tucket a brum-brum, tuck-all de brum-brum-brum
Tucket a blip-blip-blip-blip, tucka tuck-all de brum,
Tucket a brum-brum, tuck-all de brum-brum-brum!
Part of the time the drummers click their sticks together instead of hitting the drum-head. That's what makes it sound so nice. I wish I could play the snare-drum.
In the Mechanicsburg band is a boy about fourteen years old, a muscular, sturdy chunk of a lad. He walks with his heels down, his calves bulged out behind, his head up, and the regular, proper swagger of a bandsman. He hasn't any uniform, but he's all right. He plays a solo B part, and he and the other solo cornet spell each other. On the repeat of every strain my boy rests, and rubs his lips with his forefinger, while he looks at the populace with bright, expectant eyes. When he blows, he scowls, and brings the cushion of muscle on the point of his chin clear up to his under lip, and he draws his breath through the corners of his mouth. He's the real thing. Bright boy, too, I judge, the kind that has a quick answer for everybody, like: “Aw, go chase yerself,” or “Go on, yeh big stiff.” Watch him on the countermarch when they pass the Radnor cornet band. The Radnors broke up the Mechanicsburg band last year and they're going to try to do it again this year. The musicians blow themselves the color of a huckleberry, and the drummers grit their teeth, and try to pound holes in their sheep-skins. Aha! It's the Radnor band got rattled in its time this year. Went all to pieces. The boy snatches, a rest. “Yah!” he squawks. “Didge ever get left?” and picks up the tune again. I wish I could play the cornet. Wouldn't play solo B or I wouldn't play any—Ooooooooh! Did you see that? Took that stick by the other end from the knob and slung it away, 'way up in the air, whirling like sixty, and caught it when it came down and never missed a step. Look at him juggle it from hand to hand, over his shoulder, and behind his back, and under one leg, whirling so fast that you can hardly see it, and all in perfect step. Whope! I thought he was going to drop it that time but he didn't. That's something you don't see in the cities. There, all the drum-major does with his stick is just to point it the way the band is to go. I like our fashion the best. Geeminentally! Look at that! I bet it went up in the air forty feet if it went an inch. I wish I was a drummajor. I guess I'd sooner be a drum-major than anything else. Oh, well, detective—that's different.
Let's go farther along. Don't get too near the judges' stand. I know. It's the best place to see the finish of an event, but I've been to Firemen's Tournament before. You let me pick out the seats. Up close to the judges' stand is all right till you come to the “wet races.” What? Oh, you wait and see. Fun? Well, I should say so. Hope they'll clear all those boys off the rail. Here! Get down off that rail. Think we can see through you? You're thin, but you're not thin enough for that. Yes, I mean you, and don't you give me any of your impudence either. Look at those women out there. Right spang in the way of the scraper. Isn't that a woman all over? A woman and a hen, I don't know which is—Well, hel-lo! Where'd you come from? How's all the folks? Where's Lizzie? Didn't she come with you? Aw, isn't that too bad? Scalding hot! Ts! Ts! Ts! Seems as if they made preserving kettles apurpose so's they'd tip up when you go to pour anything.... Why, I guess we can. Move over a little, Charley. Can you squeeze in? That's all right. Pretty thick around here, isn't it? There's the band starting up. About time, I think. Teedle-eedle umtum, teedle-eedle, um-tum. “Hiawatha,” of course. What other tune is there on earth? I've got so I know almost all of it.
First is—let me see the program. First is what Mat. King calls “the juveline contest.” It says here: “Run with truck carrying three ladders one hundred yards. Take fifteen-foot ladder from truck, raise it against structure”—that's the judges' stand—“and boy ascend. Time to be taken when climber grasps top rung of ladder.” They're off. That pistol-shot started them. Why can't people sit down? See just as well if they did. New Berlin's, I guess. Pretty good. He's hanging out the slate with the time on it. Eighteen and four-fifths. Oh, no, never in the world. Here's the Mt. Victory boys. See that light-haired boy. Go it, towhead! Ah, they've got the ladder crooked. Eighteen. That's not so bad .... Oh, quit your fooling. He's nothing of the kind. Honestly? What! that old skeezicks? Who to, for pity's sake? Well, I thought he was a confirmed old bachelor, if anybody ever was. Well, sir, that just goes to show that any man, I don't care who he is, can get married if he—Who were those? Are those the Caledonia juveniles? I don't think much of 'em, do you? Seventeen and two-fifths. I wouldn't have thought it. So their team gets the first prize. Well, we weren't in that.
What's next? “First prize, silver water-set, donated by Hon. William Krouse.” Since when did old Bill Krouse get to be “Honorable?” Yes, well, don't talk to me about Bill Krouse. I know him and his whole connection and there isn't an honest hair—“Association trophy will also be competed for.” Oh, that's the goldlined loving cup we saw in the window. Our boys have won it twice and the Caledonias have won it twice. If we get it this time, it will be ours for keeps. “Run with truck one hundred and fifty yards; take twenty-five foot ladder,” and so forth and so forth, Dan O'Brien's the boy for scaling ladders. He was going to enlist in the Boer War, he hates the English so. Down on them the worst way. And say, what do you think? Last year, at Caledonia, he won the first prize for individual ladder scaling. And what do you suppose the first prize was? A picture of Queen Victoria. Isn't that Caledonia all over? there's a kind of rivalry between our boys and the Caledonias.
Here they come now. Those are the Caledonian. Tell by the truck .... Do
you think so? I don't think they're anything so very much. Nix. You'll
never do it. Look at the way they run with their heads up. That shows
they're all winded. Look at the clumsy way they got the ladder off the
wagon. Blap! The judge thought it was coming through the boards on him.
Oh, pretty good, pretty good, but you just wait till you see our boys.
Look at the fool hanging there on the ladder waiting till the time is
announced. Isn't that Caledonia all over? Yah! Come down! Come down!
What is it? Twenty-five seconds. What's the record? Twenty-four and
four-fifths? Oh, well, it isn't so bad for Caledonia, but you just
what our boys do. Hear those yaps from Caledonia yell! If there's
anything I despise it is for a man to whoop and holler and make a public
spectacle of himself. Who's this? Oh, the Radnors. They're out of it.
Look at them. Pulling every which way. That ladder's too straight up
and down. Twenty-seven and two-fifths. What did I tell you?... What time
does your train go? Well, why don't you and your wife come take supper
with us? Why didn't you look us up noon-time?... I could have told you
better than that. (They went to the Ladies' Aid dinner.) Well, we shan't
have much, I expect, but we'll try and scrape up something more
filling than layer-cake. The idea of expecting to feed hungry people
on layer-cake! It's an imposition.... I didn't notice which one it
was. Doesn't matter any way. Only twenty-eight. Ah, here are our boys.
They've got blue silk running-breeches on. Well, maybe it is sateen. Let
the women folks alone for knowing sateen from silk a mile off. How much
a yard did you say it was? Notice the way they start with their hands
on the ground, just like the pictures on the sporting page of the Sunday
newspapers. Here they come. Oh, I hope they'll win. That's Charley
Rodehaver in front. Run! Oh, why don't you run? Come on! Come on!
Come on! Come on! COME ON! COME ON! COME O—O-oh! See Dan skip up that
ladder! Go it, Dan! Go it, old boy! Hooray-ay! Hooray-ay, ay! What's the
time? Twenty-four! Twenty—four flat! BROKE THE RECORD! Hooray-ay-ay!
Where's Caledonia now? Where's Caledonia now? Oh, I'm so glad our boys
won. There goes the Caledonia chief. I'll bet he feels like thirty
cents, Spanish. Ya-a-a-ah! Ya-a-a-ah! Where's Caledonia now? They can't
beat that, the other fellows can't, and it's our trophy for keeps....
Oh, some crank in the next row. “Wouldn't I please sit down and not
obstruct the view.” Guess he comes from Caledonia. Looks like it. You
stand up, too, why don't you? Those planks are terribly hard.... I
didn't notice. Yes, that wasn't so bad. Twenty-five and two-fifths. But
it's our trophy. There goes Dan now. Hey, Dan! Good boy, Dan! Wave your
handkerchief at him. Hooray-ay-ay! Good boy, Dan!
Next is a wet race. Now look out. Let's see what the program says: “Run seventy-five yards to structure, on top of which an empty barrel has been placed with spout outlet near top. Barrel to be filled with water by means of buckets from reservoir”—That big tin-lined box opposite is the reservoir. They are filling it now with a hose attached to the water-plug yonder—“until water issues from spout.” What are they all laughing at? Which one? Oh, but isn't she mad? Talk about a wet hen. Why, Charley, the hose got away from the man that was filling the reservoir and the lady was splashed. Why don't you use your eyes and see what's going on and not be bothering me to tell you? Ip! There it goes again. Oh, ho! ho! ho! hee! hee! didn't I tell you it would be fun? See it run out of his sleeves.... I always get to coughing when I laugh as hard as that. Oh, dear me! Makes the tears come.