XIX
As it happened, we made a poor start. Turning the corner into
Broadway, we found ourselves caught in the jam of the theatre
traffic, and our car was brought to a halt in front of the "Empire
Varieties." If you have been on any Broadway between the Atlantic
and Pacific oceans, you can imagine the sight; the flaring electric
signs, the pictures of the head line artists, the people waiting to
buy tickets, and the crowds on the sidewalk pushing past. There was
one additional feature, a crowd of "rah-rah boys," with yellow and
purple flags in their hands, and the glory of battle in their eyes.
As our car halted, the cheer-leader gave a signal, and a hundred
throats let out in unison:
"Rickety zim, rickety zam,
Brickety, stickety, slickety slam!
Wallybaloo! Billybazoo!
We are the boys for a hullabaloo--Western City!"
It sounded all the more deafening, because Bertie, in the front
seat, had joined in.
"Hello!" said I. "We must have won the ball-game!"
"You _bet_ we did!" said Bertie, in his voice of bursting
self-importance.
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