Every Boy Should Have a Man by Preston L. Allen Page A

ears.
    The plan had much to do with her companion in music, Yellow Fellow.
     
    * * *
     
    He had a stout belly and was larger than she was—and he was stronger too, they knew, from his feats in the mines.
    One day the boss watched amazed as Yellow Fellow saved her from a heavy stone that was falling, catching it with one hand and shoving her to safety with the other.
    But outside the mines, he was sluggish and not much interested in the matches, most of which he won by intimidation into submission with his greater size.
    He was not swift. He was not graceful. He quite often stumbled and bumbled into victories. No, he was not a great champion. He was champion by default, and he was the favorite of a lackadaisical and overconfident oaf who needed badly to be relieved of his silver.
    “You are quicker than he is, true. But how will you turn advantage to victory?”
    “His real weakness is his thin legs. I will knock against them, and when he topples I will wrap my arms around his neck. And then his battle is lost. I may not even have to apply my teeth.”
    The boss nodded. “Good plan, little red top. Although,” he suggested, “I think you should apply your teeth regardless.”
    She peered back with eyes that were dangerously weary, as though she wanted to apply her teeth to him .
    “But I guess that is your choice to make.” He sucked in his cheeks and stepped back. “See to it then!”
    They faced off behind the food wagon, everyone in attendance anticipating a great battle. But Yellow Fellow was too slow, too sluggish that day; she fearless and quick. In a flurry of noise and dust, it was over.
    To all watching, the battle was hard fought and hard won, though brief. To the boss’s thinking it could have been harder and longer, but he happily collected his winnings from the gamblers who had wagered on the wrong side. With a wide grin, he relieved Yellow Fellow’s oaf of his burden of coin.
    Then, since his pockets were heavy with silver, he extended the respite between periods of labor and demanded of the musical man a song. Yellow Fellow arose and cleared his throat. Red Man got with her whispering stones and her coal rocks of differing size to join him as companion in music.
    And Yellow Fellow was a great singer of word songs.
    He sang the Word Song of Elber-So-Wadle and the Village of Mans.
    And the bard did sing:
     
    In days of old, Elber-So-Wadle was betrayed and banished into the wilderness by the treacherous Ti-So-Wadle.
    In the wilderness, the great lord Elber-So-Wadle did wander forty days without food and finally did collapse on the ground.
    On the ground did he collapse.
    He awoke in a bed too short for his legs.
    When up-he-got to investigate, his head he-did-bump on a ceiling too low.
    He bumped his head on a ceiling too low.
    The room was furnished so small he thought he had been made to rest in the room of a child.
    Then down-he-bent so as not his head-to-bump upon entering the grand room of the house.
    He saw therein a couch, two chairs, and a hearth, again befitting a small child.
    Elber-So-Wadle scratched his head in wonder.
    “Perhaps I am still dreaming,” to himself said he.
    “Still dreaming am I perhaps,” he said.
    Then down-he-bent and out-he-went and found himself in surroundings familiar:
    Trees, bush, farmyard, barn;
    Hoss, bovin, chicken, little chickees.
    But the farmer, his wife, and their children were all mans!
    Farmer, wife, children were mans!
    The great warrior Elber-So-Wadle did near faint at the sight.
    The man man farmer said to him, “Ti-So-Wadle has betrayed you and wishes you dead;
    “But this is your rescue from the great creator who knows that you are just and good;
    “And you shall lead his people in right-eous-ness.
    “In righteousness shall you lead them.”
    “But who are you?” the great Elber-So-Wadle asked.
    “I am Zack, the man man farmer, and this is the Vill-age of Mans.”
    “Welcome, great lord Elber-So-Wadle, to the Vill-age of Mans!”
    “The