Beaver Bill could not stand.
“Well, me boys,” he cried, shambling to his feet. “I used ter dance when I was young, me and Sal Hawkins once took ther prize at a log cabin warmin’; hyar goes!”
The old trapper’s lengthy, lank limbs began to flap about in keeping with the music.
It was a spectacle to have made a dog laugh.
It is needless to say that at the conclusion of the dance there was not a dry eye in the camp.
Then Barney treated the audience to a genuine Irish jig.
Pomp was not to be outdone, and followed with a plantation breakdown. It was a feast for the gods!
Thus the hours passed rapidly, until suddenly consulting his watch, Frank found that it was midnight.
“Enough!” he cried, springing to his feet. “Time is up.”
“Shure, an’ is it?” cried Barney, regretfully.