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Page 49
"My ma had one of them there things when I was a yearlin'," he
observed.
Fresno spun the seat of the piano-stool until it almost twirled
off the screw. His actions created greatest interest, especially
to Parenthesis, who peered under the seat, to see the wheels go
round. Fresno threw his leg over the seat as if mounting a horse.
"Well, boys, what'll you have?" he asked, glancing from one to
the other in imitation of the manner of his friend, the pianist
in the Tucson honkytonk, on a lively evening.
"The usual poison," absently answered Show Low.
Sage-brush struck him in the breast with the with the back of his
hand. "Shut up," he growled.
Turning to Fresno, he said: "Give us the--er--'The Maiden's
Prayer.'"
Fresno whisked about so quickly that he almost lost his balance.
Gazing at the petitioner in blank amazement, he shouted: "The
what?"
Sage-brush blushed under his tan. In a most apologetic voice he
said: "Well, that's the first tune my sister learned to play, an'
she played it continuous--which is why I left home."
"I'd sure like to oblige you, but Maiden's Prayers ain't in my
repetory," explained the mollified musician.
Fresno raised his finger uncertainly over the keyboard searching
for a key from which to make a start. The group watched him
expectantly. As he struck a note each member of his audience
jumped back in surprise at the sound. Fresno scratched his head
and gingerly fingered another key. After several false starts,
backing and filling, over the keyboard, he began to pick out with
one finger the air "The Suwanee River."
"That's it. Now we're started," he cried exultantly.
His overconfidence led him to strike a false note.
"Excuse me," he apologized. "Got the copper on the wrong chip."
Once more he essayed playing the old melody, but became
hopelessly confused.
"Darn the tune!" he mumbled.
Sage-brush, ever ready to cheer up the failing courage of a
performer, chirruped: "Shuffle 'em up ag'in and begin a new
deal."
Fresno spat on his hands and ruffled his hair like a musical
genius. Again he sought the rhythm among the keys. He tried to
whistle the air. That device failed him.
"Will you all whistle that tune? I'm forgettin' it," was his
plaintive request.
"Sure, let her go, boys," cried Sage-brush.
Falteringly, with many stops and sudden they tried to accompany
Fresno's halting pursuit over the keyboard after the tune that
was dodging about in his mind. All at once the player struck his
gait and introduced a variation on the bass notes.
"That ain't in it," shouted Show Low indignantly.
"Shut up!" bellowed Sage-brush.
With both hands hammering the keys indiscriminately, Fresno made
a noisy if not artistic finish, and whirled about on the stool,
to be greeted by hearty applause.
"Well, I reckon that's goin' some!" he boasted, when the
hand-clapping subsided, bowing low to Polly and Mrs. Allen.
"Goin'?" laughed Polly. "Limpin' is what I call it. If you don't
learn to switch off, you'll get a callous on that one finger of
yourn." Fresno looked at that member dubiously.
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