"Yes'm."
"I've seen that old man," Aunt Vic said. "He's only a half brother to Miss Dink. Lives way over yonder the other side of Millers Crossing--down below the state line."
"I tell you he can sure scald-the-dog! Don't know when to slow down, much less stop."
"He's a mean man! Pouring hot water on a poor dog!" I shouted.
"Bandershanks, that's just a saying! Means he's plain talented when it comes to a fiddle."
"Oh. Jim-Bo, hurry and get to the dancing part!"
"Yeah, I'm coming to that right now—soon's I clear the floor and sprinkle down the sand."
"What?"
"You see, on the Saturday of the dance, folks have to move out the beds and dresser and table—or whatever stuff they've got in their front room—to sorta clear the floor so there'll be plenty of space for dancing. All they leave is three or four straight chairs over in the corner for the fiddlers. And sometimes the lady of the house spreads a thick layer of white sand on the floor, just before everybody gets there. That way, she can get her floors tramped clean while the dancing is going on! Soon as the musicians come, they tune up. Then they strike up the music and six or seven couples start dancing.
"Casey and Hi and Uncle Hiram play and play. Then they rest. And while they're resting, somebody takes up the collection of money to pay them. That's me! I get my hat and walk around through the crowd. The boys drop in a dime or two bits, or whatever they want to. After a while the music starts again.