Well, this woman straightens her wreath and breaks out in some kind of a foreign language which sounds like nothing I ever heard unless it is "Chopsticks" played on a piano which is out of tune and is minus some of the keys.
"Look, sister," Jimmie says, "vamoose while the vamoosing is favorable."
The woman makes some motions and spouts some more of this here talk and there is just one word I get and that is "grease." She says this over and over, "Grease, grease," meanwhile gesturing for all she is able.
"Grease?" Jimmie says, puzzled, and she nods violently and shakes the bridle she is carrying and does a act like she is putting it on a horse and then flaps her arms like she is flying.
"Grease," she says.
I begins to get uneasy. "Say," I says to Jimmie, sotto voice, "let's us get out of here—this gal has got bats in her belfry."
"I think she has lost a horse," Jimmie says slow.
"Horse!" I says. "How is she going to straddle a horse in that getup? She has lost her mind. Let's us get out of here. Loonies is not no picnic."
Jimmie does not pay no attention to me. He takes the bridle away from her—gentle—so as not to scare her and he does a act like he is putting it on a horse. "Horse?" he says.
This looney looks at him a minute, then her face kind of brightenslike. She points to the bridle Jimmie is holding and says, "Hippos."