Too much progress for Piperock

by W. C. Tuttle

“Step in the—oh—!” croaks Dirty, wild-eyed. “This is terrible!”

“It will be a big thing for Piperock,” says Mrs. Gonyer, “and it will teach the male sex that the women are the real progressives. Don’t you think so, Mr. Harper?”

“There’s goin’ to be a lesson taught,” says I. “Experience is a great teacher, but I ain’t never learned much. I thought I was wise, but I finds that— Well, I ain’t never wore a tail like a goat and blowed on a wooden whistle yet.”

“I hope that Testament’s skin pants will fit Mr. Harper,” says Mrs. Tilton. “Mr. Harper is a little wider across than the Reverend.”

“Mr. Jones will be a little snug in Sam’s,” opines Mrs. Holt, “but he don’t have to do only one little dance.”

Dirty’s bad eye rolls a complete circle and then stops with a dead center on the tip of his nose. He grabs me by the arm and flops down in a chair.

“Ike,” he gasps, “Ike, shoot me while there is yet time.”

“Shoot yourself—you’ve got a gun,” says I.

“I know it, bub—but I’m so nervous I’d miss.”

Dirty just sits there and sweats.