The punchers rushed in confusion about the room in a vain search.
"Ain't there a plagued thing we can cover the pianny with?" cried the demoralized Allen, renewing his appeal.
Polly came to the rescue of the helpless men by plucking a Navajo blanket from the couch. Tossing one end of it to Show Low, she motioned to him to help hold it up before the instrument like a curtain.
"Stand in front of it, everybody," ordered Mrs. Allen, who had left her cake-baking and hurried in from the kitchen. "Polly, spread your skirts—you, too, Jim."
Allen ran in front of the piano, holding out an imaginary dress in imitation of Polly. "Which I ain't got none," he cried.
Parenthesis jumped in front of the piano-stool, trying vainly to hide it with his legs.
"Parenthesis, put your legs together," Mrs. Allen cried.
"I can't, ma'am," wailed the unfortunate puncher. He fell on his knees before the stool, spreading out his waistcoat for a screen.
Mrs. Allen helped him out with her skirts.
"Steady, everybody!" shouted Jack.