“Offensive is right,” says I, and then I goes up to see the old man.
The next morning me and the old man goes to Paradise, and goes into executive session, with Scenery and Hank, in the rear of Dug Chaffin’s saloon. Hank pounds on the table with his boot heel, and calls the roll. We’re all present.
“Gents,” asks Hank, “who is going to lead the pe-rade?”
We looks at each other, and then the old man clears his throat.
“I looked up them lodge raiment, and they’re dazzlers.”
“I still got that hard hat that I wore to a Dimmicrat rally down to Silver Bend ten year ago,” orates Scenery. “She looks a heap dignified, and it’s too small for any of you fellers. I got a sword, too—in a holster.”
“To lead a pe-rade a man ought to look dignified—not his clothes,” proclaims Hank.
“This here glory thing is going to cause hard feelings,” says I. “I moves that we does like this: we’ll all be here before the pe-rade is ready to start, and we’ll let some uninterested party pick out the suitable person for to lead it. Dress for the part, and if yuh don’t get picked, be a good sport and pe-rade anyway.”
“That’ll keep the mortality down to a certain extent,” agrees Hank, and the other two nods.
“Now,” says Hank, “how about this person to be Miss Columbus?”