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The fights begin with the ungainly posturing, and aimless gesticulation, with which all who have witnessed a Malay sword-dance are familiar, but when the fencers come to close quarters the interest begins. They strike, kick, pinch, bite, scratch, and even spit, until one or the other is unable to move.
"Shcream, shcream, voman! Shcream loudly, or I vill knock you!" But the Countess was made of stern stuff. Outraged and frightened though she was, she yet retorted huskily "I will not scream, Rudolph! I I demand an explanation first!" Executing a step of the sword-dance within a yard of her, he reiterated "Shcream so zat zey may come back!" She blinked, but held her ground.
Recalling the cake-walks, sand-sifting, pigeon-winging, and Juba-patting of the south, the sailor's hornpipe, the sword-dance of the Scotch, and the metropolitan version of the tango, I did my best, while the thrilled air of Oomoa Valley echoed these words, yelled to my fullest lung capacity: "There was an old soldier and he had a wooden leg, And he had no tobacco, so tobacco did he beg.
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