'
'Hour' you mean . . . . Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Conklin? Hello, Fred.
Pleased to meet you, Miss Shoemaker. Yes, I saw in the paper you
were visiting your sister. This your first visit to our little burg?
Yes, we think it's quite a place. You see, we're trying to make your
stay as interesting as possible . . . . Oh, no, not altogether on your
account. No, no. Ha! Ha-ha-ha! Hum! ah! . . . Well, yes, if she
ever gets done primping up. Oh, there you are. Miss Shoemaker, let
me make you acquainted with my wife. Now, you girls'll have to get
a move on if you want to see anything."
The male escorts grasp the ladies' arms and shove them ahead, that
being the only way if you are ever going to get any place. The women
gasp and pant and make a great to-do.
"Ooh! Wait till I get my breath. Will! Weeull! Don't go so
fay-ust! Oooh! I can't stand it. Oh, well, you're a man."
But when they turn the corner that gives them a good view of the
blaze, fluttering great puffs of flame, and hear the steady crackle
and snapping, as it were, of a great popper full of pop-corn, they,
too, catch the infection, and run with a loud swashing and slatting
of skirts, giggling and squealing about their hair coming down.
In the waving orange glare the crowd is seen, shifting and moving.
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