“Say,” called Mike, “do you see them niggers? Goin’ to let ’em stay?”
“Certainly,” answered Gilbert. “They are friends of ours.”
“No, they hain’t,” growled Mike. “I hain’t got no such devilish taste as that.”
Gilbert paused for a second, and said quietly as he faced the offender with a steady glance: “I hope your good taste will prevent your making any disturbance.”
“Hush, Mike!” “Keep still, for God’s sake!” whispered several of his companions as he turned to Gilbert threateningly.
“Never fear, men,” said Gilbert reassuringly. “Mike knows this isn’t any place for a mill,” and without saying anything further he passed on to the platform.
Under the entreaties of his companions the bully sank into a corner and sulkily watched the proceedings. A little later Antoine stepped to the front of the platform and began one of his inimitable improvisations. Catching sight of Eph’s interested face in the audience, the impulse to give a song in negro dialect came over him with irresistible force. With scarcely a moment’s waiting the clear young voice rang out in a lively carol.
“What if some troubles yo’ do know?
Jes doan min’ ’em, let ’em go!
It only makes de bigger hill,