Part 9 (1/2)

Then, my eyes cleared. And I seen she was sad, like as if somethin' was botherin' her mind. ”She thinks she's a-goin' t' git beat,” I says to myself. ”But she _ain't._” And I reached down to see if my pop-gun was all right.

She turned back towards the stage. The Murray woman 'd just finished one of them songs of hern, and the Judge was talkin' again. ”Ladies and gents,” he says, ”we shall not drag out our pro_gram_ too long. Fer the reason that I know just what you-all want to hear _most_. And that is, the _re_sult of the contest.”

That railroad gang begun t' holler.

Don't know why,--wasn't no reason fer it, but my heart went plumb down into my boots. ”Aw, little Macie!” I says to myself; ”aw, little Macie!” Say! I come mighty nigh prayin' over it!

”The count fer the prettiest gal,” goes on the Judge, ”is complete.

Miss de Mille, kindly bring for'ard the watch. I shall have to ast some gent to escort the fortu_nate_ young lady to the platform.” (I seen a brakeman start over to Mollie Brown.)

”I don't intend”--the Judge again--”to keep you in suspenders no longer. And I reckon you'll all be glad to know” (here he give a bow) ”that the winner is--Miss Macie Sewell.”

Wal, us punchers let out a yell that plumb cracked the ceiling. ”Wow!

wow! _wow!_ Macie Sewell!” And we whistled, and kicked the floor, and banged the benches, and whooped.

Doctor Bugs got to his feet, puttin' his stylish hat and gloves on his chair, and crookin' a' elbow. Wal, I reckon _this_ part wasn't vulgar!

Then, _she_ stood up, took holt of his arm, and stepped out into the aisle. She was smilin' a little, but kinda sober yet, I thought. She went towards the Judge slow, and up the steps. He helt out his hand.

”With the compliments of the company,” he says. She took the watch.

Then she turned.

Another cheer--a _whopper_.

She stood there, lookin' like a' angel, 'r a bird, 'r a little bobbin' rose.

”Thank y', boys,” she says; ”thank y'.”

If I'd 'a' knowed what was a-goin' to happen next, I'd 'a' slid out then. But, a-course, I didn't.

”My friends,” says the Judge, ”I will now read the vote for the homeliest man. Monkey Mike received the large count of twenty. But it stands nineteen hunderd and sixty fer--Cupid Lloyd.”

All of a suddent two 'r three fellers had holt of me. And they was a big yell went up--”Cupid! Cupid! The homeliest man! Whee!” The next second, I was goin' for'ards, but shovin' back. I _hated_ to have her see me made a fool of. I seen red, I was so mad. I could 'a' kilt. But she was lookin' at me, and I was as helpless as a little cat. I put down my haid, and was just kinda dragged up the aisle and onto the platform.

She went down the steps to her seat then. But she didn't stop. She bent over, picked up her jacket, whispered somethin' to Rose and, with that Simpson trailin', went to the back of the hall. There she stopped, kinda half turned, and waited.

I wisht fer a knot-hole that I could crawl through. I wisht a crack in the floor 'd open and let me slip down, no matter if I tumbled into a barrel of _mo_la.s.ses below in Silverstein's. I wisht I was dead, and I wisht the hull blamed bunch of punchers was--Wal, I felt something _turrible_.

”Cupid!” ”You blamed fool!” ”Look at him, boys!” ”Take his picture!” ”Say! he's a beauty!” Then they hollered like they'd bust they sides, and stomped.

I laughed, a-course,--sickish, though.

The Judge, I reckon, felt kinda 'shamed of hisself. 'Cause I'd helped to sell a heap of medicine, and he knowed it. ”That's all right, Lloyd,” he says; ”they ain't no present fer you. You can vamose--back stairway.”

”Whee-oop!” goes the boys.

I seen her start down then. Billy and his wife got up, too. So did the crowd, still a-laughin' and a-hootin'.

I kinda backed a bit. When I reached the stairs, I went slower, feelin'