The cymbals
clashed--and a long music record began to unfold in segments like a
papier-mache snake.
"Well," exclaimed Diane fervently, "I do wish he'd stop! For all we've
seen him so often he's never bothered us like this before."
The unfortunate and frequently flagellated "Glowworm," however,
continued to glow fearfully, impelled to eruptive scintillation by the
crank, and the vocal lady "walked with Billy," and presently the
minstrel came through the trees with his hat in his hand, his dark eyes
very humble and deferential.
Now as Diane nodded pleasantly and smiled and held forth a coin, the
wandering minstrel suddenly swayed, clapped his hand to his forehead
with a choking groan and pitched forward senseless upon the ground at
her feet. Diane jumped.
"Johnny!" she exclaimed in keen alarm, "we've another invalid. Turn
him over!" But it was not Johnny who performed this service for the
unfortunate minstrel. It was Mr. Poynter.
"Hum!" said Philip dryly. "That's most likely retribution. A man
can't unwind all that hullabaloo without feeling the strain. Water,
Johnny, and if you have some smelling salts handy, bring 'em along."
After one or two vigorous attentions on the part of Mr. Poynter, the
nomad of the music machine opened his eyes and stared blankly about
him.
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