“Coot cracious!” gurgled the Dutch boy, staring at Frank. “Vos you shelus, too? I didn’d oxbect dot vrom you, Vrankie. Py Chorch! This vos a surbrise vor you!”
“It will be a surprise for a great many when you begin to sing,” sighed the big Yale man.
“Mister Prowning, your remarks vos oxceeding der blace out uf. Laties, vot shall I sung to you?”
“Oh, anything!” cried Hattie. “Make your own selection.”
“I nefer sing any dose common songs uf. Der oldt songs vos goot enough me vor, such as, ‘Holdt der Vort Up,’ ‘Bull der Shore Vor,’ ‘Vait Till der Glouts Roll Pie, Shenny,’ ‘Der Oldt Oaken Pocket,’ und such as dose.”
“Oh, do sing ‘The Old Oaken Bucket,’” urged Hattie.
“Yes, do!” cried the others.
“Vale, I ain’d sung dot some dime vor, but id peen my vavorite song. I vill gif him to you, laties.”
“Who will accompany you?”
“I don’d needed nottings dot kindt uf. I can done my own accombanying. Shust kept sdill now, und I vill wable.”