Usually he's a kind of sad, meek coot, looking
neglected and put upon; but now he was actually giggling to himself
as he come up the stairs two at a time.
"Well, Old-Timer, what has took the droop out of your face?" I ask him.
"Why," he says, twinkling all over the place, "I'm aiming to keep it a
secret, but I don't mind hinting to an old friend that my part of the
evening's entertainment is going to be so good it'll make the whole show
top-heavy. Them ladies said they'd rely on me to think up something
novel, and I said I would if I could, and I did--that's all. I'd seen
enough of these shows where you ladies pike along with pincushions and
fancy lemonade and infants' wear--and mebbe a red plush chair, with gold
legs, that plays 'Alice, Where Art Thou?' when a person sets down on
it--with little girls speaking a few pieces about the flowers and lambs,
and so on, and cleaning up about eleven-twenty-nine on the evening's
revel--or it would be that, only you find you forgot to pay the Golden
Rule Cash Store for the red-and-blue bunting, and they're howling for
their money like a wild-cat. Yes, sir; that's been the way of it with
woman at the helium.
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