That's the finish; next day the Silver Cornet Band by edict of the Sni-a-bar pop'lace is re-exiled to them woods.

But I don't go; old Hickey excloodes me, an' my hopes of moosical eminence rots down right thar.
"'It's mebby two days later when I'm over by the postoffice gettin' the weekly paper for my old gent.

Thar's goin' to be a Gander-Pullin' by torchlight that evenin' over to Hickman's Mills with a dance at the heel of the hunt.

But I ain't allowin' to be present none.

I'm too deeply chagrined about my failure with that big drum; an' then ag'in, I'm scared to ask a girl to go.