S.L. All right. Nine hundred pounds of steel in place! Let's go. (Men grab up bars and jump into place.) Come on if you're coming, let's go if you're going! (He struts to center and begins to sing.)
When I get in Illinois
I'm going to spread the news about the Florida boys
Shove it over! Hey! Hey! CanIt youline it?
Ah, shack-a-lack, a-lack, a-lack, a-lack, a-lack, a-hunh!
Can't you move it?
Hey! Hey! Can't you try?
(The men grin and work furiously. He sings five verses and men join in chorus.)
(Peering down the rail to see if it is lined correctly)
BOSS./ All right, boys, that gets it. Hammers!
(The men all start towards the car with the bars to exchange them for snub-nosed hammers. Singing Liner is humming "This old hammer" and two or three others are harmonizing the hum. Off stage right can be heard the picking of a guitar and a baritone voice singing sketchily. All stop and look that way.)
NUNKIE. Who you reckon that is giving that box that nasty fit? If he can't play that guitar there ain't a hound dog in Georgia, and you know that's de puppy's range.
S.L. Wished I knowed myself. He sure is propaganda.
(Enter SPUNK walking energetically down the track. His hat is far back on his head. His shirt collar thrown wide open. He stops playing as he reaches the gang.)
ORAL (in admiration) Hey, box-picking fool, where you come from?
SPUNK (pleased with the compliment) From Polk County, where the water taste like cherry wine.
(He plays a few bars of "Polk County". The men are in high glee. The boss frowns)
BOSS. All right, boys, get to work. You killing up the Company's time.
BLUE TROUT (cajoling) Us going to work, Cap'n. Leave him play just a little
