Well sir, you'd a-died to a-seed him a-dancin'. We danced
all night that night, and would a-be'n a-dancin' yit, I reckon, ef the
fiddler hadn't a-give out. Wash Lowry was a-fiddlin' far us; and along
to'rds three or four in the mornin' Wash was purty well fagged out.
You see, Wash could never play far a dance er nothin' 'thout
a-drinkin' more er less, and when he got to a certain pitch you
couldn't git nothin' out o' him but "Barbary Allan;" so at last he
struck up on that, and jist kep' it up and _kep_' it up, and nobody
couldn't git nothin' else out of him!
Now, anybody 'at ever danced knows 'at "Barbary Allan" hain't no tune
to dance by, no way you can fix it; and, o' course, the boys seed at
onc't the'r fun was gone ef they could n't git him on another
tune.--And they 'd coax and beg and plead with him, and maybe git him
started on "The Wind Blows over the Barley," and 'bout the time they'd
git to knockin' it down agin purty lively, he'd go to sawin' away on
"Barbary Allan"--and I'll-be-switched-to-death ef that feller didn't
set there and play hisse'f sound asleep on "Barbary Allan," and we had
to wake him up afore he'd quit! Now, that's jes' a plum' facts. And
ther' wasn't a better fiddler nowheres than Wash Lowry, when he was at
hisse'f.
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