First B. (who has been honestly under the impression that he did see a point somewhere). Why, he says he's an orphan—hasn't any Pa nor Ma.
Second B. (captiously). Well, there's nothing so very funny in that!
First B. (giving up the point on consideration, as M. Charlemagne skips off). Oh, it's all nonsense, of course; these fellows only come on to fill up the time till Pôlusse sings (feels rather proud of having caught the right pronunciation). Pôlusse is the only one really worth listening to.
Second B. (watching two Niggers in a Knockabout Entertainment). I can follow these chaps better. [Complacently.
One of the Niggers [to the other]. Ha, George Washington, Sar. I'll warm you fur dat ar conduck!
First B. (in a superior manner). Oh, yes; you soon get into the accent.
[Later—M. Charlemagne has re-appeared, and sung a song about changing his apartments, with spoken passages of a pronouncedly Parisian character.
First B. (who little suspects what he has been roaring with laughter at). That fellow really is amusing. I must take Nellie to hear him some night before we go back.
Second B. (dubiously). But aren't some of the songs—for a girl of her age—eh?
First B. My dear fellow, not a bit! I give you my word I haven't heard a single line yet that was in the least offensive—not a single line! Anybody might go! Look here—it's Pôlusse next; now you listen—he'll make you laugh!