“Use Magpie,” says I. “I’m out of order.”
“Huh!” snorts the judge. “Ornery as ever, eh, Ike? You ain’t got as much civic pride as a cat!”
“Maybe not,” says I, “and I’ve got eight less lives. I may die when my time comes but I ain’t rushing the e-vent. Piperock is always starting something that they can’t finish without bloodshed and horror.”
“We’re progressive,” explains the judge. “We sure are—to a startling degree, and the eyes of the world will e-ventually turn to Piperock.”
“They will,” says I, “and this is what they’ll be saying: ‘The words on that tombstone are appropriate: They Couldn’t Let Well Enough Alone.’”
“This here celebration amounts to what?” asks Magpie.
“Mostly everything, Magpie. On Tuesday we has the celebration proper. There will be feet races, tugs-of-war, shooting matches, et cettery. Lot of the fellers are practising for the events and she bids fair to be a humdinger.
“We aims to put Piperock on the map, Magpie. Always our inhabitants has to go to Silver Bend to see the sights, such as a circus or a opery. If we can advertise Piperock sufficient-like we can get said attractions and keep our money and young men to home. You was pretty good as a ordinary sheriff, Magpie, but you ain’t got the get-up that our new sheriff has. Me and him got together on this and we deserves a lot of credit.”
“You’re welcome, judge,” says I, “and all that goes with it.”
Just then here comes old “Jay-Bird” Whittaker, who owns the Cross J cow outfit and two-thirds of the banks in Yaller Rock county. The judge ain’t partial to Jay-Bird, so he lopes off down-town.