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but just as we arrive at the scene of the chuck wagons and tents all done up real old western style there’s a big fat sheriff type with two sixshooters standing at the admission gate, Cody says “That’s to give it color see” but I’m drunk and as we all pile out of the car I go up to the fat sheriff and start telling him a Southern joke (in fact just the plot of an Erskine Caldwell short story) which he receives with a witless smiling expression or really like the expression of an executioner or a Southern constable listening to a Yankee talk—So naturally I’m surprised later when we go into the cute old west saloon and the kids start banging on the old piano and I join them with big loud Stravinsky chords, here comes two gun sheriff fatty coming in and saying in a menacing voice like T.V. western movies “You cant play that piano”—I'm surprised, turning to Evelyn, to learn that he’s the blasted proprietor of the whole place and if he says I cant play the piano there’s nothing I can do about it legally—But besides that he’s got actual bullets in those six guns—He’s going all out to play the part—But to be yanked from joyful pianothumping with kids to see that awful dead face of negative horror I just jump up and say “Alright, the hell with it I’m leaving anyway” so Cody follows me to the car where I take another swig of white port—“Let’s get the hell out of here” I say—“Just what I was thinkin about,” says Cody, “in fact I’ve already arranged with the director of the play to drive Evelyn and the kids home so we'll just go to the City now”—“Great!”— 113