Wick Smith falls over backwards, pulling his new drum over with him, thereby saving his part of the orchestra.
“Whoo-o-o-ee! Pow-w-w-w-der Ri-i-ver!” yowls a puncher, and a circle of chairs lands around Maud S, trying to block her, but Maud S ain’t to be stopped.
She bucked plumb over the top of Wick Smith, and that drum rattled against her heels.
Zowie! She telescoped and lifted that drum with both hind feet. Dirty Shirt was just going to jump off the stage to attack her from the rear, and that drum caught him in midair. Dirty comes plumb back onto the stage and lands setting down in that bed of cactus. The drum hit me in the knees, and I went plumb over the top of it and dug my chin into the desert.
When I got my senses again I sees that about seven punchers have hold of Maud S, and are trying to hold her.
“Lights!” yelps Wick. “Light some lamps. My ——, my drum is busted!”
“—— your old drum!” howls Dirty Shirt, standing on the stage, trying to lift the seat of his pants loose from himself.
“O-o-o-o-oh, the tab-lew is ruined!” wails Mrs. Smith.
Everybody helped light the lamps, and then we stands and looks at each other. Maud S looks like her course was about run, but them punchers don’t take any chances.
“Sandy Claws has come!” yells a voice at the door, and we all takes a look. I never seen anything like that apparition. It’s a two-year old steer, wearing a bear-skin overcoat, with a string of sleigh-bells around it, and on the lower lip of the danged animal is Tellurium Wood’s false whiskers, and over one horn is that tall hat. The steer is about half way into the hall when we see it coming, and its tail is twisted over its back. Around its mouth is twisted a rope, which is yanked off as it humps into the door.