“That’s what you say,” grunts Dog-Rib. “Where’s the proof?”
“How’s it better, I’d crave to know, that’s what I’d crave,” says Roarin’ Lyons.
“Brother, you’ve got a cravin’,” agrees Nebrasky, “and so have I.”
“Well,” says Hank sad-like, “the only way to prove it is to go ahead and play her out, boys.”
“I’ll tell yuh what we’ll do,” says Dog-Rib. “I’m a fair man and I’ll allus do the right thing. Us, as a committee, will judge. We’ll watch yuh do this here play-actin’, and if we decided it ain’t as good as Zeke and Olaf could have played her, you give us back our money.”
“My Gawd!” groans Hank. “In yore opinion! Well, I reckon it’ll be all right, Dog-Rib.”
“We’ll be on the front row,” warns Dog-Rib, “and yuh better give us plenty show for our money. We’ll be especially watchin’ Peewee and Hozie.”
And me without a voice in the matter. I’d quit right now, if I could talk enough to resign. The rest of the outfit gits around me, and they shore told me a lot I didn’t know about actin’.
“You two jiggers ain’t the leadin’ parts in this here drammer of the Sunny South,” says Hank, “but right now yo’re prominent as hell. On you depends about five hundred dollars; so act. San Pablo is watchin’ yuh.”