"That's all they ever plays on it," explained Show Low indignantly.
Polly grew impatient. This presentation was a serious affair and not to be turned into an audience for the exploitation of Show Low's adventures. Moreover, she did not like to be used even indirectly as a target for fun-making, although she delighted in making some one else a feeder for her ideas of fun.
Fresno modestly announced he was something of a musical artist.
"I 'low I can shake a tune out of that," he declared.
"Let's hear you," cried Polly, rather doubtful of Fresno's ability.
"Step up, perfesser," cried Allen heartily, slapping him on the back.
Fresno grinned and solemnly rolled up his sleeves. His comrades eyed his every move closely. He spat on his hands, approached the piano, and glared fiercely at the keyboard.
"My ma had one of them there things when I was a yearlin'," he observed.
Fresno spun the seat of the piano-stool until it almost twirled off the screw. His actions created greatest interest, especially to Parenthesis, who peered under the seat, to see the wheels go round. Fresno threw his leg over the seat as if mounting a horse.
"Well, boys, what'll you have?" he asked, glancing from one to the other in imitation of the manner of his friend, the pianist in the Tucson honkytonk, on a lively evening.