Jolly Good Fun

          

           “That was jolly good fun,” squeaked Miles. “I do believe I worked up a sweat.”

            “Bring me the banjuke,” Miss Kitty commanded.

            Harold, his skin pale, but visible, stood up and walked across the pine floor, and started to hand Miss Kitty the banjuke. “You tune it just like a ukulele,” Harold said. He thought for a moment, laughed, and said, “Hey, I’m materialized. I can tune it!”

            Miss Kitty smiled, her wide lips revealing the tips of her front teeth, which had been chipped. When she realized what she had shown, she covered her chipped and stained teeth with her tongue.

            Miles, a silent (for once) observer, made a mental note to himself: give Miss Kitty a bonus so she can have her teeth repaired.

            As soon as Harold finished tuning the banjuke, he picked up his banjo, and tuned it to the key of D. Once he had accomplished that, he broke out into Soldiers Joy. Miss Kitty picked up her fiddle, and joined him. Miles, a radiant smile on his packrat face, danced on his Bodhran, adding a strong beat to the song.

            Kitty tapped her foot on the floor, which she had seen what she considered real musicians do on stage, and said, Mississippi Sawyer. Before Miles could say Bob’s your uncle, the trio had dived into the new tune. Harold added a wonderful harmony line on the banjo, and Miles continued to carry the beat with the bodhran.

            Harold carefully tapped his foot, worried that his head would fall off, and started plucking Arkansas Traveler. Naturally, that went into Whiskey Before Breakfast, which went into Cider Mill. After Cider Mill, they played 8th of January, Angelina Baker, Jay Bird, and Stanton Island Hornpipe. The trio stopped for a moment, and then Harold started playing Sally in Nik’s Garden. The song had a minor feel to it, and Miles and Miss Kitty both stopped playing just to hear Harold on the banjo. Harold finished the song, and embarrassed, his cheek’s turned a shiny pink.

            “Oh Harold,” Miss Kitty said, “You are a wonderful banjo player.”

            Miles, exhausted from playing the bodhran, fell asleep on top of his drum. Miss Kitty bent down, and patted the top of Miles’ head.

            “Well, boys,” Miss Kitty said, “that was incredible. Thank-you, Harold, and thank-you, Mr. Sleepy Head. I have to go home and feed Miss Patches.”

            “Come anytime,” Harold said. “And bring your fiddle.”