LXXVII
And Doc's a whole hand at a fire!—directin' how and where
To set your ladders, low er higher, and what first duties air,—
Like formin' warter-bucket-line; and best man in the town
To chop holes in old roofs, and mine defective chimblies down:
LXXVIII
Er durin' any public crowd, mass-meetin', er big day,
Where ladies ortn't be allowed, as I've heerd Sifers say,—
When they's a suddent rush somewhere, it's Doc's voice, ca'm and cle'r,
Says, "Fall back, men, and give her air!— that's all she's faintin' fer."
LXXIX
The sorriest I ever feel fer Doc is when some show
Er circus comes to town and he'll not git a chance to go.
'Cause he jes natchurly delights in circuses—clean down
From tumblers, in their spangled tights, to trick-mule and Old Clown.
LXXX
And ever'body knows it, too, how Doc is, thataway!...
I mind a circus onc't come through—wuz there myse'f that day.—
Ringmaster cracked his whip, you know, to start the ridin'—when
In runs Old Clown and hollers "Whoa!—Ladies and gentlemen