Always up to some monkeyshine. Ah! See him? See him?
Oh, is n"t he soaking them? Oh-ho! Ho! Ho! ha! ha! hee-hee! Yip.
Blame clumsy fool! . . . P-too! Yes, in my mouth and in my
ears and down the back of my neck. All over. Running out of my
sleeves. Everything I got on is just ruined. Completely ruined.
Come on. Let's go home. There's nothing more to see, much.
Aw, come on. Well, stay if you want to, but I'm going home, and
get some dry clothes on me. You get me to go to another Firemen's
Tournament and you'll know it. Look at that monkey from Caledonia
laughing at me. For half a cent I'd go up and smack his face for
him . . . . Aw, let up on your "Where's Caledonia now?" Give us
a rest. Well, are you coming, you folks? . . . Kind of a fizzle
this year, wasn't it?
However, after supper, with dry clothes on, it isn't so bad. The
streets are packed. All the firemen are parading and shouting:
"Who? Who? Who are we?" The Caledonias got one more prize than
our boys. Well, why shouldn't they? Entered in three more events.
I don't see as that's anything to brag of or to carry brooms
about. All the fife-and-drum corps are out, and the bands are all
playing "Hiawatha" at once, but not together. Not all either.
There's one band in front of Hofmeyer's playing "Oh, Happy Day!
That Fixed my Choce.
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