The effect was delightful. Not since I heard the original Fiske Jubilee singers, twenty-five years ago, when a boy of six or seven, have I heard any negro music that satisfied me as this did.
“Ethel,” said I, “we are It. Is there a local charitable organization or a Village Improvement Society, or a Mother’s Meeting that needs help?”
“What are you after now,” said Ethel.
“Minerva’s pleasure first and foremost, but also the amelioration of the bitter lot of parties at present unknown, by means of a concert to be given at the house of Mrs. Vernon, by James and Minerva.”
“Philip!” said Ethel.
“As near as I can make out,” said I, “I am devoting this summer to the building up of your health by a life in the country, free from cares. To do that we must have a girl, and there is but one girl that we know we can have, and that is the girl we do have. Can’t you imagine how Minerva will take fire at the thought of singing in a concert?”
“I suppose she would like it,” said Ethel, “but how do you know that we can get people to come?”
“We needn’t worry about that part of it at first. First of all we must begin our rehearsals, and they will take time. Do you appreciate that fact? And very first of all, I’ll go out and interview James.”
“Philip,” said Ethel, rising and looking at me with a vexed expression, “I wish you had more dignity. I’ll go out and tell James that you wish to speak to him.”
“Not at all,” said I. “What! You go out and tell him? Wait. Sit where you are, and all will be well.”