Paradise has always wanted that autymobile, and as far as I can see, most of the town are comin’ up to our shindig. Paradise can’t get along together well enough to ever pull off a celebration; so they’ve got to git outside their own limits, if they ever want entertainment.
I didn’t go uptown that evenin’, but stayed at our shack. Magpie wasn’t at home, and I knew he was as busy as a rat-tail bronc in fly time. He’s always the movin’ spirit in Piperock, and up to the present time, I’m the sacrificial goat that you read about in the Bible. But not this time. For once in his life Ike Harper, Esquire, is goin’ to set back and let somebody else be the burnt offerin’.
About nine o’clock that night Dirty Shirt comes down to my cabin.
“Do you want to re’lize on them tickets you got, Ike?” he asks. “We’ve plumb run out of cardboard, and the market is good in Paradise. I can git you jist what you paid.”
“I’ll ride on what I’ve got,” says I, kickin’ myself for that poker game. “I may win that machine myself.”
“Don’t be a danged fool, Ike. It ain’t got no brakes. Why, the whole thing is loose. Anyway, you can’t run it around here. Let Paradise or Yaller Horse have it. They won’t live long enough to enjoy it much.”
Then I told him about the poker game. I’d found the other ticket, but one ticket wasn’t worth botherin’ about.
“You’re the only person in Piperock who has a ticket; so I reckon the town is safe for democracy. We’ve done collected enough to build the new church, and the admission fees will hang a bell on her.”
“Why are you and Scenery Sims so interested in havin’ a new church?”