“Yes, Pat, I’m here; but I have half a notion not to face the music.”
“The divil ye say! It’s give in now, is it? Not while I’ve me money staked on ye. I’ll have Jim show ye a foine time. It’s just the crowd to suit ye. That Mormon beer they’re passin’ won’t wet your throat, but ye’ll like it, for there’s no stick in it at all, at all; and they’re a mighty social people, even if they do mix prayin’ with their dancin’. Come along, me lad.”
Thus urged, Fred soon found himself in the midst of the crowd.
“Here, Jamie,” called Pat, as he caught sight of his partner in the doorway. Jim whirled around.
“I’ve caught this trout-lassoin’ Tiddy,” Pat went on; “now show him the toime of his life.”
“Why, hello, Teddy,” returned Jim, grabbing the boy’s arm. “Come into the mix-up. You’re losin’ a deal.”
Before Fred could protest, Jim had opened a way through the good-natured, jostling crowd of cowboys that blocked the doorway, and he found himself in the heart of the fun.
“Alleman left!” trumpeted Uncle Toby, through the buzz of voices, shrill music, and clattery feet. “Promenade all!” he called again. Then with a series of scraping flourishes he wound up his lively tune. The laughing, chatty couples, faces aflush, cleared the crowded floor.
“Your attention, please!” called the manager in a commanding tone.
The crowd quieted.