“Are we that far behind the rest of the world?” asks Dirty, tearful-like.
“Further,” assures Magpie.
“Then let’s be up and doin’,” urges Dirty. “My ⸺, I never realized that we was runnin’ in the dust. How does we start in to speed up the old buggy?”
“I,” says Magpie, “I am the little jigger who is goin’ to lead Piperock to th’ promised land. I am the pelican which is goin’ to make Piperock a place of honor and glory and a social center. I has been throwed down by the best citizens, you know it? Puttin’ their personal feelin’s ahead of the best interests of the city, they has laid down upon their labors, willin’ to let poor old Piperock slumber and waller in the dust of decay; but the womin can see what it means to the city, and they’re firm as rocks. I have got one of the best dances yuh ever seen, gents.
“The ordinary poetry of motion is the weavin’s of a drunken Siwash with a sprained ankle beside this here dance of mine. Miss Harrison said it had anythin’ beat she ever seen.”
“Do yuh have music for this kind of dancin’?” asks Dirty.
“Well, kinda,” assures Magpie. “Frenchy Deschamps’ jew’s-harp and Bill Thatcher on his wind-pipe. Bill bought it a short time ago. Said that ever time he got a bull-fiddle busted it cost him ten dollars for a new one; so he buys him a wind-pipe. If anybody shoots holes in that thing he can patch it up.”
“That’s a new instrument on me,” says Dirty.
“That’s it,” says Magpie. “We’re so far behind the times, Dirty, that we don’t recognize things that the rest of the world has been usin’ for years.”
“My ⸺!” wails Dirty. “This is awful, Magpie. I’m grateful to yuh for callin’ my attention to same. Ain’t you grateful, Ike?”