The Elbert County tribune., 1914-01-16

duced to Affable Jones. and I'm tho
Marks of Worms-the same being q
nom de plume. We proceeds to the
opery-house. climbs in through little
hind window, and finds dressing
room Affable Jones dresses up as a
monk. Bull Durham claims he's rigged
out already as vice-bishop. and I'm
to be chicken, cause I'm dealing
vintage eggs in the cotillon. All the
same, IT, left there alone for hours,
and it's only when they comes back
with a cocktail that III consent to
dressing up as a chicken-which in
passing out through that Ill window is
some crowded. We proceeds up street,
me toting eggs, and practicing chicken
talk, and 1t seems the general public
is surprised.
So we comes to the Masonic Hall.
which is all lights, and band, and fash
ionable persons rigged out In fancy
dress. dancing the horse doover. I
got the name from Bull, who Gays that
the next turn is my day boo in the
omlet cotillion. Seems it's all ar
ranged. too Affable Jones lines up
the ladies' on the left, the dudes on
the right. all the length OF the hall.
Bull marches up the middle, spurs
trailin' behind him, and there's me
dressed as a chicken. with a basket
Of eggs. wondering whether this here
cowboy is two persons l see. or only
the one l can hear Bands playing
the dudes. and l deals each deco
rated egg. laying 1t careful in the bowl
Of the spoon, till there's only few
left over, and I'm safe along with Bull
So far everybody seems pleased.
Bull whispers in my ear. Make for
the back door, you son of a sea cook.
which offends me, being true; waves
an egg at the band for silence. and
calls out, Ladies' and gents" From
the back door seen how all the dudes
has to stand dead still for fear of
dropping an egg.
Ladies'" says Bull. has any of
you seen live mouse? On the way
up among you. seems I've dropped my
mouse. and it's climbing skirts for
solitude"
Then there's shrieks, screams, la
dies throwing themselves into the
arms of them dudes, eggs dropping
eggs going bang, Bull throw
ing eggs at every man not otherwise
engaged. and such a stink that all the
lights goes out. I'm grabbed by the
scruff of the chicken. run out through
the back door. and slung on the back
of horse. Bulls yelling ride! Ride!
Git a move on!" He's fiogging the
horse with his Quirt, he's yelling at
me: Ride. or we'll be lynched!"
My mouths full OF feathers, chick
ems coming all to pieces-can't ride
fall off. So on the whole 1
dug the chickens spurs into Mr..
Horse, and rode like a hurricane in a
panic. All of which reminds me that
the hinder parts of an imitation bird
is comforting whar she bumps. Still.
draw them stars across.
I'm feeling better with twenty miles
between me and Invicta City. The
sun atranspires over the eastern sky
line. the horses is taking a roll, I'm
seated on the remnants of the chicken,
and Bull Durham says I'm his adopt
ed orphan.
Looking back it seems to me that
the first nights proceedings was calm.
Thar was the fat German fire brigade
pursuing an annual banquet across
lots by moonlight, all on our way
north. too. till the wagon capsized In
a river.
Thar was the funeral obsequies of
pig, late deceased, with municipal
honors. until we got found out
Then we was an apparition of an
gels at revival camp. only Bulls
wings caught fire. and spoiled the
whole allusion.
Gro BE CoNTINUEDJ