"That's where the old folks--" Will spoke.
"Stay!" bellowed his father.
Shuffle, tap, bounce, jog.
Where was Jim! Jim was forgotten.
Dad jabbed his ribs, tickling.
"De Camptown ladies sing this song!"
"Doo-dah!" yelled Will. "Doo-dah!" he sang it now, with a tune. The balloon grew. His throat tickled.
"Camptown race track, five miles long!"
"Oh, doo-dah day!"
Man and boy did a minuet.
And in midstep it happened.
Will felt the balloon grow huge within him.
He smiled.
"What?" Dad was surprised by those teeth.
Will snorted. Will giggled.
"What say?" asked Dad.
The force of the exploding warm balloon alone shoved Will's teeth apart, kicked his head back.
"Dad! Dad!"
He bounded. He grabbed his Dad's hand. He raced crazily, hollering, quacking like a duck, clucking like a chicken. His palms hit his throbbing knees. Dust flew off his soles.
"Oh, Susanna!"
"Oh, don't you cry--"
"--for me!"
"For I come from--"
"Alabama with my--"
"Banjo on my--"
Together. "Knee!"
The harmonica knocked teeth, wheezing, Dad hocked forth great chords of squeeze-eyed hilar
ity, turning in a circle, jumping up to kick his heels.
"Ha!" They collided, half-collapsed, knocked elbows, cracked heads, which blew the air out faster. "Ha! Oh God, ha! Oh God, Will, ha! Weak! Ha!"
In the middle of wild laughter--