Then they strike up
the music and six or seven couples start dancing.
"Casey and Hi and Uncle Hiram play and play. Then they rest.
And while they're resting, somebody takes up the collection of
money to pay them. That's me! I get my hat and walk around
through the crowd. The boys drop in a dime or two bits, or
whatever they want to. After a while the music starts again.
"All the young sprouts who ain't too bashful-and the ones who
ain't made many trips out behind the house to find a bottle-ask
the pretty girls to dance again. And away they go! This lasts
half an hour or so."
"Then what?"
"Then the fiddlers have to rest again, and I pass the hat
again. If the dancers don't want to pay much, why the musicians
don't feel like playing much. Sometimes I have to call out: 'The
more money in the hat, boys, the sweeter goes the songs!' Or, I
say: 'Pay your fiddlers, boys, and y'all can call the tunes!'"
"Say, Casey, ain't you got that thing tuned yet?"
"Yep! I'm all set now, Jim-Bo." Casey stuck his fiddle under
his chin and edged his chair over closer to the lamp.
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