THE BALLAD OF LILY DUPREE

Another Story from Dee Raymond

The aptly named 'Good Times Saloon' was once again well into another successful night. Four rip-roaring, drunk miners had al- ready been carried out from the bar, but still the saloon owner, Rip Hassell, was not happy. To his alert eyes, business was actu- ally off again for the third week in a row. There were noticeable gaps in the rows of men lining the bar, while it was clear that many of the the card players, at the tables the saloon provided, were spending more of their time playing cards than drinking. Rip didn't really blame them at all. There wasn't much else to do in Cottonwood in the chilly, late summer evenings, save to play cards, drink, fight occasionally and, least of all, be entertained by a bunch of vaudeville acts that wouldn't have seen the light of day in any respectable town. The recurrent fights were also be- ginning to depress Rip. The inci- dence of such fights was rising week by week and were getting more and more vicious. Little John Braden had lost an ear in the big brawl on Saturday night. But what could you expect, thought Rip sourly, when the territorial marshals, true to the Company's policies, wouldn't al- low women into the all-male Diggings. It was a bad rule, but

there wasn't a thing Rip Hassel could do about it.

The show was starting, but few of the miners paid any atten- tion. Two young men, “comedi- ans", were trying to do a standup routine, but they were getting more and more nervous, fumb- ling their lines, as the hum rose from their 'audience'. Even a short, snappy song with some good footwork was greeted with an increase in the volume of noise from the ranks at the bar. Their ending flourish was follow- ed by several loud raspberries from a group of River Circle cowboys. Soon, the whole bar had taken up the cheer. The young men retreated in confu- sion as the saloon erupted in laughter, for the first time that evening.

As the ventriloquist began his routine, Hassell edged his way across the saloon, past the cow- boys, now back to a card game, and out through a side-door lead- ing to the stage. He couldn't have entertainers in the saloon that were openly jeered at by the cus- tomers. He had to get rid of them, even though it would leave several holes in the show- card for the next week, until new performers could come in on the stage from South Bend.

Joe Blake was the taller of the

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pair, with red hair and a thick, red, bushy moustache. He was tense and angry when Hassell en- tered the dressing room.

"You have to shout out the punch lines," he was saying to his partner, Monty Lewis. "You gotta get these guys' attention."

Lewis was fitting a black moustache to his upper lip. His hair was parted down the middle but he still looked very young and so he was adding lines of greasepaint to 'age' himself for the next sketch. Small and slen- der, he just didn't have the voice to overpower the inattention all performers faced in the "Good Times".

"You can forget it, boys," said Hassell, trying to be some- what sympathetic. The team of Blake and Lewis looked at him blankly. "You don't have to go out there any more tonight," he added.

"But the Police sketch," Joe Blake began.

His partner understood more quickly. He pulled off the mous- tache and the sideburns, which Hassell hadn't realized were false, and reached for cotton swabs to wipe off the marks on his face.

"You don't have to do that anymore," said Hassell.

Blake stood up, his chest puffed out, looking as if he were