The sounds of “The Virginia Reel” poured out of the open doors of the Poplar Community Centre as dozens of people filed in through the doors. Tonight’s event, meant to raise funds for the cubs to travel to the jamboree, was expected to be a “real Barnstormer,” joked Patrick Turner as he helped his wife out of her summer jacket.

“Yes. dear. You’ve mentioned that joke before,” Shelagh pointed out.

“A good joke should never go to waste, love.” He pretended not to notice her muttered response, “Yes, a good joke…”  as he admired the dress she chose for the dance. Purple and white gingham, it flared out widely over her hips, well-designed for swinging to and fro’.

“That dress is rather pretty,” he commented. He paused for a moment, considering something. “Why is it you have nice dress tonight, and I have to wear this ridiculous ribbon tie and belt buckle?” He grimaced, looking down at the protruding piece of tin Timothy had molded for his dad as a young Cub several years ago.

Truth be told, Patrick surprised Shelagh when he agreed to the slightly ridiculous tie and belt in the first place. It had taken some convincing, and a perhaps a few promises as well, to persuade him to discard his usual tie and braces. For a man so long unaware of his sartorial responsibilities, Patrick had become a bit of a dandy of late. Perhaps his agreement had more to do with her promises than his new look.

“Stop complaining, Patrick. I think you look just like Gary Cooper in “High Noon.” Her fingers slid around his forearm and she stepped up to his side, a flirtatious grin on her face. “I wish I had found that black cowboy hat I was looking for on the High Street. I think it would suit you!”

“Hello, Dr. Turner, Mrs. Turner!” called the jovial voice of Fred Buckle. Turning, they met the Nonnatus handyman and his current lady friend, Mrs. Violet Gee, coming in the doors. Never one to fear attention, Fred was bedecked in the most extraordinary faux-cowboy costume ever to grace the East End. A length of royal blue fringe as long as the Rio Grande dangled across the massive expanse of Fred’s upper torso.

“Lovely night for a bit o’ dancin’ and minglin’ wouldn’tcha say, Doc?”

Always quick to regain his composure, Patrick responded, “It certainly is, Fred. Let’s get these ladies in before all the good tables are taken!” As they followed the new couple in, Patrick whispered to his wife, “One month.”

Shelagh looked up, confused. “Patrick?”

“I give it one month–no, less.” Patrick shook his finger in conviction. “Before the end of October, Fred will ask Mrs. Gee to marry him.”

“Oh, Patrick. You are the most ridiculous man! Why, Fred’s only just started walking out with Mrs. Gee.” Shelagh laughed. “Fred’s a free spirit. He likes to take each day as it comes. Marriage! I can’t imagine what’s made you think such a thing!”

As the Country and Western stylings of “The Old Lady and The Goat” filled the air, Patrick swung his wife into his arms. “Mark my words, my love. I’m devoted to you, but all you could convince me to don for this little soiree was a buckle and bow. Judging from the ridiculous blue fringe our friend is wearing, Violet Gee has old Fred corralled and branded before winter!”