After a while most of them got so they could make different kinds of noises, but I dunno’s any of ’em ever got so’s they could tell ahead of time just what kind of a noise was coming out. The fellow with the big bass horn could go _umph-ha, umph-ha, umph-ha_ over and over, but mostly it was the same _umph-ha_. He didn’t seem able to make different kinds. So, no matter what tune they was playing, he would go _umph-ha_ing along regardless. The altos had a kind of an easy time because there were four of them, and they sort of picked over their tunes. Each fellow found a note he could play and stuck to it, so that between them they got most of the notes in. Of that crowd—the altos—Deputy-Sheriff Whoppleham was about the best. He was tall and skinny, with a hooked beak and an Adam’s apple bigger than a Northern Spy. When he tooted his Adam’s apple woggled up and down like an elevator. He went at his horn like he planned to eat it. First he would lean his head ’way back and then tilt it sideways and shut one eye. Then he’d let her go. After every note he’d shut the eye he had open and open the eye he had shut. Sort of kept time that way, I guess. The man that played the barytone was all messed up with whiskers, and it was a wonder how he ever piled his horn through them to find his mouth. He kept time with his right leg, working it like a horse with the spring-halts. But the leader he was the cream of the performance. He would woggle his horn up and down two or three times, and then make a special big woggle as a signal for the time to start. Then he would start keeping time for everybody by lifting first one foot, and then the other, like an elephant. Before a time was over he’d tramped up most of the space inside the band, and he felt pretty cheap if he didn’t get through the piece at least a minute ahead of everybody else. Then he’d look at them sort of superior and sarcastic and ask why in tunket they couldn’t keep the right time, with him beating it so plain. Well, as I say, the band was trying to start in on a tune. They usually had to make three or four jumps at it before they decided just what they was going to do, and then maybe three or four of ’em would find they was playing the “Maiden’s Prayer” when the rest of them was playing “Star-spangled Banner.” Not that it made much difference that I could see. They all sounded alike, and there wasn’t one time that could scare a horse less than any other tune. Pretty soon they got under way and was mowing the music down like anything, and folks sort of lost interest. Then a kid spied me, and he showed me to another kid, and _he_ showed me to some more, and they pointed me out to everybody, and the trombone-player got his eye on me and sort of strangled and let out a strip of noise that sounded like a cow bellering to be milked. In about two minutes everybody saw me, but I never looked to right nor left, but went right along wheeling my doll-cab and singing a lullaby.