"I'm a greatly wicked person. If there's anybody worse on This terrestrial circumference of guile (Though I very broadly doubt it) I should like to know about it, For I want to be the blackest thing on file.
"I'm a bad-mad-man, my dear, I'm a liar and a flyer and flirty buccaneer. I've done everything that's awful that a human being can. I'm a bad—ma-a-d man."
"The song from 'Polly Peek-a-boo.' Harry and I heard it only two weeks ago," mused Pauline.
Moved by a sudden whimsy, she entered the cabin. There was no one there but the cook. In his dingy linen suit he was standing at the table peeling potatoes and whistling. He stopped as Pauline entered, a tall powerful man, though of slouching posture, he bowed deferentially.
"No like me sing—no sing," he suggested.
"On the contrary, I like it very much. You sing very well indeed, Filipo. Would you mind telling me where you heard the song you were just singing?"
"Big American man, up Nassau—he sing'um. Very fine man—big fool daughter," replied Filipo.
"You speak very good English when you sing," remarked Pauline. "Why don't you do it all the time?"
The cook hesitated.
"Speak good English all time—bad English when sing!"