“The house must be full,” opines Magpie, fastening his lionskin.
“Full of hootch and ⸺” sighs Dirty, sliding into his cow skins. “I’m goin’ to die like a ⸺ cow, I know that.”
“My gosh!” grunts Magpie. “I’ve plumb forgot we ain’t got no announcer since the judge quit. Ike, will you do the announcin’?”
“Then I won’t have to dance?”
“Sure you’ll have to dance, but all you’ve got to do, Ike, is to tell ’em what is comin’ next. The first thing on the program is a solo dance, which is knowed as ‘The Gatherin’ Storm,’ by Mrs. Smith; and then she gets assisted by the five ‘Raindrops,’ consistin’ of Mrs. Holt, Mrs. Tilton, Mrs. Steele, Mrs. Gonyer and Mrs. Wheeler. Mrs. Smith is doin’ the solo in place of the departed champeen dancer of the world. Will yuh do this for me, Ike?”
“Do it for Magpie,” urges Dirty. “Do anythin’ to get it over.”
I went on to the stage, and I got the shock of my life. Them females are out there, and I’m a danged liar if they ain’t undressed about as much as possible. I takes one look and staggers for the curtain. I hears one of them women bust out in a “haw! haw!” as I went past, but I never stopped to think that I wasn’t wearing any more than the law allows.
I steps out through the curtain and looks around. Never did the old hall hold as many folks. Fog-horn Foster and Half-Mile Smith are settin’ in the front row, across the aisle from each other. They stares at me for a moment; then both gets up like they was walking in their sleep, steps for the aisle and bumps together.
Fog-horn hit Half-Mile and Half-Mile hit the floor, after which Fog-Horn went right on up the aisle. Half-Mile got up, looks at me again, and follers Fog-Horn, but he ain’t tryin’ to catch Fog-Horn—he’s tryin’ to go past him.
“My ⸺” gasps “Cinch” Culler, lookin’ wild-like around. “Won’t somebody please hold me? I won’t be responsible⸺”