He's sittin' on a log, busy rollin' a cigarette, and in place of his
usual solemn air he looks satisfied and happy. That's as much as he
can seem to loosen up.
"Great pickled persimmons, man!" snorts Old Hickory. "Let's be human.
Come, we're all tickled to death, aren't we? Let's make a noise about
it, then. Torchy, can't you start something appropriate?"
"Sure!" says I. "How about doin' a war dance? Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh! Get
in step, Vee. Now we're off. Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh!"
"Fine!" says Old Hickory, droppin' in behind Vee and roarin' out the
Sagawa patter like a steam siren. "Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh! Come, Captain.
Fall in, Cornelia. Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh!"
Would you believe it? Well, Auntie does. I never thought it was in
the old girl. But say, there she is, her gray hair streamin' down over
her shoulders, her skirts grabbed up on either side, and lettin' out
the yelps easy and joyous. Even Rupert has to grin and join in.
Round and round that treasure heap we prances, like so many East Side
kids 'round a Maypole in Central Park, with the yuh-huhs comin' faster
and louder, until finally Auntie slumps on the sand and uncorks the
only real genuine laugh I've ever known her to be guilty of. No wonder
Vee stops and rushes over to her.
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