Magnolia came swiftly down the aisle. She looked up at the thin young man; he stared at her across the footlight gutter.
“Will you let me try some songs?” she said.
“Who’re you?” demanded the young man.
“My name is Magnolia Ravenal.”
“Never heard of it. What do you do?”
“I sing. I sing Negro songs with a banjo.”
“All right,” said the thin young man, resignedly. “Get out your banjo and sing us one.”
“I haven’t got one.”
“Haven’t got one what?”
“One—a banjo.”