Will Bowen, apparently having forgotten Halley's Comet, shouted, "How about giving us Sally Goodin?" Dad played the old breakdown with vigor. Several men jumped up and jigged around. Children gathered around and gazed wide-eyed at the performance.
All our neighbors went home whistling or humming. Very few remembered to look toward the northwest to see whether the comet and its wicked tail were still around...
One evening, Will Bowen called dad on the telephone and said, "Charley, I'mdownhearted(无精打采的)and blue. Every time a square forms, there are four boll weevils waiting there to puncture it with their snouts. Just wondered if you could play a tune or two for me?"
"I sure could, Will," Dad said. "Could you come over?"
"No. I mean play on the phone box."
"The phone box?"
"Sure," Mr Bowen said. "I can hear you talk. Why couldn't I hear the fiddle?"
Dad took the fiddle to the telephone and thumped the strings. Putting the receiver to his ear, he said, "Hear anything. Will?"
"Sure can," Mr Bowen said. "Could you try Sally Goodin and play it just like you did the other night?" Dad handed the receiver to me. He stepped up to the mouthpiece on the wall box and cut loose on Sally Goodin. I could bear Mr Bowen whistling and yelling.
By the time the tune was finished there were half a dozen neighbors on the line, and they talked about how wonderful the music sounded over the telephone. They made numerous requests; I relayed them to Dad and he played the numbers.
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