But he had a new story to tell his friends in the clubs of Tucson, Phoenix, Yuma, Los Angeles.

And whenever he told it, Sudden Selmer would repeat what he called _The Skyrider's Dream_ from the first verse to Mary V's last--even unto Bud's improvisation.

He would paint Johnny's bombardment of the choir practice until his audience could almost hear the thud of the rocks when they landed.

He would describe the welt on Aleck's head, the exact shade of purple in Curley's face when his boss called him off the fence.

He would not smile at all during the recital, but his audience would shout and splutter and roar, and when he paused as though the story was done, some one would be sure to demand more.
Then a little twitching smile would show at the corner of Sudden's lips, and he would drawl whimsically: "Those boys were so scared they never chirped when the poet actually went sky-riding to an altitude of about ten feet above the saddle horn, and lit on the back of his neck.