“My——!” gasps Dirty Shirt, pious-like. “But save the wimmin and children first.”
“It’s sure goin’ to be a wonderful thing, and will teach a moral,” says Testament.
“Yes,” says I. “And the moral is: Let well enough alone.”
“I’d ought to say them words,” squeaks Scenery. “I think a thing like that needs appropriate gestures, and I’ve studied——”
“Might be better,” says Wick. “Gestures helps a lot. Remember Willyum Jennins Bryan, when he was preachin’ fer silver. If Scenery would sort of loosen up his vocal cords a little——”
“Let him say ’em,” says I. “I’d hate to pass out with them words on my lips. Scenery, you’re elected.”
“All right,” squeaks Scenery. “I’ll study up my ellie-cushun a little. Feller gets kinda rusty, you know it.”
“Yeah,” admits Magpie, “and kinda squeaks. You don’t need study—you need some kerosene and then a application of axle-grease, Scenery.”
The next morning we took Maud S up the steps into the hall, and I’m here to say that Maud S made life miserable for us. A mule is hard to argue with on the level, but try getting one half-way up a stairs and have it stop to think. We took Maud S in sitting down, bucked her onto the stage, where she lays down and refuses to get up.
“Fine!” says Wick. We “won’t have to hawg-tie her.”