Some chaps fell down and some they ducked,
And them fur off, by gosh, they hucked.
For that air pessle, sir, it come
Sky-hootin’ like a ten-inch bomb.
It landed more’n eight rods away
Right through the top of Drew’s new shay,
—Right ’twixt the gal and Ezry Drew,
And hully gee, it scart ’em blue.
While pa—wal, pa, he jest turned green
—Gawked fust at Drew, then that machine.