It's a public good
thing. If a gent's morose, an' his whiskey's slow placin' itse'f, he
goes over to Hamilton's hurdy-gurdy an' finds relaxation an' relief.
Now yere comes this stranger--an' I makes it fifty dollars even he's
from Massachusetts--an' what does he do? Never antes nor sticks in a
white chip, but purloins Hamilton's strains, an' pulls off his
dances tharby. It's plumb wrong, an' what this party needs is
hangin'.'
"'Oh, I don't know,' says Cherokee Hall, who's in on the talk.
'Hamilton's all right, an' a squar' man. All he wants is jestice.
Now, while I deems the conduct of this stranger low an' ornery;
still, comin' down to the turn, he's on his trail all right. As this
sharp says: Who gives Hamilton any license to go fillin' his hurdy-
gurdy full of dance-music? S'pose this gent would come caperin' over
an' set in a stack ag'in Hamilton for overloadin' his joint with
pianer an' fiddle noises without his consent; an' puttin' it up he's
out to drag the camp if Hamilton don't cease? The only way Hamilton
gets 'round that kind of complaint is, he don't own them walses an'
quadrilles after they fetches loose from his fiddle; that they ain't
his quadrilles no more, an' he's not responsible after they
stampedes off into space.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204