“I shall be most happy to do so when my audience narrows to one listener.”
“And he is before the mirror,” retorted Elsie.
“Hush!” said Antoine; “stop that quarrelling! I’m going to sing.” And closing his eyes and crossing his hands before him, he began to croon, in well-portrayed negro accent and intonation, the lines of a little dialect song:
“De way is dark an’ rough an’ long,
Go slow, hol’ hard, chillun!
Doan’t git too deep in de slew ob wrong,
Go slow, hol’ hard, chillun!
“Dey’s cross-roads heah an’ cross-roads dar,
Go slow, hol’ hard, chillun!
But hope is de sign-board shinin’ like a star,