“We-e-e-ll, come on, you mockin’-birds!”
“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----”
“Ladies and gents,” says I. “I’m out here to let yuh know what’s comin’
off.”
“Wait a minute,” says Abe Mudgett, standing up. “I’ve got my two sisters
here with me, and if anything more’s comin’ off----”
“Set down!” squeaks Scenery, waving his shotgun at Abe, and Abe sets
down.
“Now,” says I, “I’m out here to announce that the first thing on the
program is Mrs. Smith. She’s goin’ to imitate a storm comin’ up, and
then Mrs. Holt, Mrs. Tilton, Mrs. Wheeler, Mrs. Steele and Mrs. Gonyer
are goin’ to show yuh what raindrops look like. This here----”
“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roars Pete Gonyer, but his laugh don’t show that he’s
tickled so awful much.
“Haw! Haw! Haw! Mrs. Smith is goin’ to imitate-- Haw! Haw! Haw!”
“Haw! Haw!” howls Wick. “My wife looks as much like a storm as yours
does like a raindrop, Pete.”
“My wife,” states the judge, standing up, “my wife ain’t goin’ to do no
---- fool thing of the kind. I’ll show her----”
“Set down!” yelps Scenery. “Set down, you old Blackstone blatter! This
is once when you don’t hand down no decisions.”
“Git off the stage and let ’er rain!” howls Telescope Tolliver. “I’ll
see it through if I have to wear a slicker.”
“Ready for us to play?” asks Bill Thatcher, kicking Frenchy to wake him
up.
“Use your own judgment, Bill,” says I. “I’ve done all I can, and now I’m
goin’ to let nature take her course.”
I starts to step back through the curtain, when “Polecat” Perkins
yells--
“Ike, I was wrong--you’re only half-cow.”
I gets back inside. Them women are all scared plumb stiff, but Mrs.
Smith wheezes--
“Ladies, we’ve made our bluff--let ’er go!”
Just then Bill Thatcher’s instrument begins to wail and wail, shutting
off all chances for Frenchy Deschamps to be heard.
“Sweet Marie!” howls Mrs. Smith. “Gee cripes, don’t he never learn a new
tune?”