Dale still had something of a little boy’s look. But then it would have been a mistake to just rely on his charming smile. With a slingshot in his hands, Dale was (well, nearly) as accurate and effective as Wilhelm Tell with his crossbow. And he could reload a lot more swiftly! One more thing: Shane and Dale had an encyclopedic knowledge regarding swearwords, and the wits needed to shoot those right in the bullseye when caught in a verbal argument. They were able to (an already more than once had) shut up the more talkatives of the Halles’ Market’s fishwives or porters. For the time being, it was Fourteen of July night’s dance. Shane and Dale were lying flat on the floorboards, right under the platform on which a band played the musette. They had cut their way through the outer marquee with Dale’s pocket knife, and were now carefully hidden behind the raw fabric of the curtain (there were two observation slits, thanks to Dale’s knife) between them and the dancefloor. And where they were, they had a good view onto the waltzing couples, and especially onto the waltzing girls, whose light summer dresses opened in corollas, showing all kind of interesting details.
Shane, Dale & The Rufty Tufty Club2
