Mrs. Sardinapalus did not
appear, having gone to visit her uncle, but "Sard." stuck to the Greek
slave like a sand burr to a boy's trousers. They laid down
together on a bale of paper rags and looked at the dance. The dance was
pretty good. First there came out about a dozen girls in tights, with
skirts as short as pie crust. Their legs were all round and well got up,
showing that the sawdust was evenly distributed, with no chance for
dissatisfaction. They capered around, and smiled at the reflection of the
red lights in the gallery upon the bald heads before them, and kicked up
like all possessed, and then they backed up against the wings and fooled
with the La Cross Assyrians, who came down like a wolf on the fold. Then
there came out two first-class dancers, one short, fat, plump, but mighty
small, so small that she didn't look as though she was big enough for a
cork to a jug. But she could dance. Well, she ought to, as she had no
clothes to bother her. Next came a brunette, evidently of French
extraction, with a face that was a protection against assault with intent
to kill, and legs of the Gothic style. Smith said she was spavined, but
that's a lie. She danced better than all of them, and walked on her big
toes till the audience yelled. Then the dancers all got tangled up
together, the brunette fell over on the little blonde, stuck her hind foot
right in the air as straight as a liberty pole struck by lightning,
somebody said "Tableau," and the curtain went down, and the audience
looked at each other as much as to say, "Let's go home.
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