And the big baboon
By the light of the moon
Was combing his auburn hair.
“Hoopla,” cried Fifi Waters and mussed the gray hair of the man with the diamond stud. “Hoopla.” She jumped down with a kick, pranced round the room, kicking high with her skirts fluffed up round her knees.
“Oh la la ze French high kicker!”
“Look out for the Pony Ballet.”
Her slender legs, shiny black silk stockings tapering to red rosetted slippers flashed in the men’s faces.
“She’s a mad thing,” cried the lady in the tiara.
Hoopla. Holyoke was swaying in the doorway with his top hat tilted over the glowing bulb of his nose. She let out a whoop and kicked it off.
“It’s a goal,” everyone cried.