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high spots of the dance was Walter's production of the "simplest square dance" as he put it, "Soldier's Joy," using the Shanty Shane talent which largely knew less than nothing of country dances. The happy bewilderment, the ineffectual twirling, the surprised satisfactions of hitting something right occasionally, was rare to see. And through it all, Walter's men hammered and strummed and blew a mountain melody, repetitive and slowly ingratiating as such music always is. The following week Walter and his troupe put on a square dance at the Fairlee Fair and a talent scout from the Springfield, Mass. Fair invited them to Springfield Fair, all expenses paid, to do it again. Walter evidently had a yearning to go to "the city," New York being his dream. But year after year, after determining not to he has stuck to the hills and Shanty Shane - for ten years he told me. It would be a crime to transport such a genuine person from truly unspoiled Vermont where he fits, to a damned bedlam of artificiality like New York. I hope he never does it, it would spoil him. Walter's clothes were classic too; in the red silk trunks, he might be a college boy. Otherwise, he wore usually an old pair of baggy dark pants which appeared momentarily to be coming off, and an old polo shirt. The night of the dance, he was better dressed - a white shirt, open at the collar, sleeves rolled up, baggy, low hung dark pants, and white, strictly informal, battered shoes. His prize comment on my looking more like a "playboy" then a "family man" was excellent. Walter was proud too. He wouldn't hang around when