By the same token, I wish I had that book in me
head, for I could just squelch Dannie and Mary with it complate.
Say, Mister O'Khayam, next time you come this way bring me a
copy. I'm wantin' it bad. I got what you gave off all secure, but
I take it there's more. No man goin' at that clip could shut off
with thim few lines. Do you know the rist?"
The Thread Man knew the most of it, and although he was very
uncomfortable, he did not know just how to get away, so he
recited it. The milk pail was empty now, and Jimmy had almost
forgotten that it was a milk pail, and seemed inclined to resent
the fact that it had gone empty. He beat time on the bottom of
it, and frequently interrupted the Thread Man to repeat a couplet
which particularly suited him. By and by he got to his feet and
began stepping off a slow dance to a sing-song repetition of
lines that sounded musical to him, all the time marking the
measures vigorously on the pail. When he tired of a couplet, he
pounded the pail over the bar, stove, or chairs in encore, until
the Thread Man could think up another to which he could dance.
"Wine! Wine! Wine! Red Wine!
The Nightingale cried to the rose,"
chanted Jimmy, thumping the pail in time, and stepping off the
measures with feet that scarcely seemed to touch the floor.
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