“Aurora,” he said–she was after this evening Mrs. Hawthorne to him only in the hearing of others,–“Aurora, I want to ask a favor, a great favor.”
“Go ahead. I guess it’s granted.”
“I wish I felt sure; but I’m afraid. Say you will not take part in the amateur variety show at mi-carême.”
252“Sakes!” cried Aurora, staring at him with round eyes. “Ask me something easy! Ask me something else! I can’t do that.”
“You can. Of course you can, if you wish to. You have only to give some excuse.”
“An excuse? Not for a farm! I don’t want to. I’ve bound myself. They expect me as much as anything. I couldn’t back out. It’s so near the time, too. Why, it’s to make money for the Convalescents’ Home. I’m a big feature of the show.”
“I know you are, and I have a perfect horror of what you may do. I can’t bear to think of the public sitting there gaping at you and laughing.”
“The public will be composed of friends. It’s all private. Give it up? Not much! I tell you, it’s nuts to me! I expect to have lots of fun. You’ve never seen, Geraldino, how funny I can be. You’ll see that night.”
“The voice runs that you’re going to appear as a nigger mammy and sing plantation songs.”
“Oh, does it? Well, that seems innocent. What objection do you see to that?”