There was the trick mule, made up of two men under an ox-hide, the mule fell apart and precipitated Don Grahame in between its two halves ... each half then ran away in opposite directions.
Don rode so well that that was the only way they (I mean the mule) could unseat him. He won much affectionate applause.
Then there was the fearful, great boa-constrictor ... which turned out to be a double-jointed, lithe, acrobatic, boy-like girl whom we knew as Jessie ... Jessie, they whispered, was marked for death by consumption, if she didn't look out and stop smoking so many cigarettes ... she was slender and pretty—but spoke with an adenoidal thickness of speech.
The colony was as merry as if no storm impended.
We adjourned for supper.
After supper, under the evening star we marched back to the barn again, which also served as our town hall. On the way there our talk was subdued and expectant. Many people were disgruntled with Jones.
"Why must he do this?"
"Why can't old Jones let well enough alone?... no community's perfect, not even our community."
Daniel had been put to bed, angrily objecting.
The five of us joined the flow of people toward the barn. Penton carried a lantern.