The judge just walks around the stage, making gestures and working his lips, but there ain’t no words. Pretty soon he stops, seems to listen, and then he says, soft-like: “Guilty? Why, gentlemen, that man is as innocent as a new-born baby.”
“Knocked back seven years,” says Dirty, awed-like. “That’s what he said the time he was my lawyer, and that was seven years ago.”
The crowd out in front are talking loud, and I know danged well that there’s going to be trouble if we don’t keep going. Mrs. Smith comes waddling in, follered by Matilda and Magpie.
Mrs. Smith is sore as a boil.
“I will not sing another note,” she declares. “Every time I start to do anything in public——”
“Maud S is getting restless,” states Scenery. “We better pull off our act.”
“Can yuh get her up at the right time, Dirty?” asks Magpie.
“Get things set, and I’ll do my dangest.”
Then they cleared everybody away, while we got ready. Me and Dirty and Scenery are all dressed in them gunny-sack gowns, and have got our boots off.
They’ve got a big bunch of cactus and a lot of rocks, which they puts around to make it look like a desert. Pete Gonyer is behind the back curtain, ready to take the cover off the moon, and then turn up the lamp. Maud S is making funny noises in her throat, but Dirty is setting on her head.