“I sometimes sing a little to the guitar.”
“To the guitar!” said Julia. “How delicious! Have you brought it?”
“I have been so bold,” he smiled, and promptly went to fetch this instrument.
In a few minutes he returned with an apologetic air.
“I find that by some error they have sent me away with a banjo instead,” he exclaimed. “But I dare say I could manage an accompaniment on that if you would condescend to listen to me.”
He felt so exceedingly disinclined for expounding a philosophy any longer that he gave them no time to dissent, even had they wished to, but on the instant struck up that pathetic ditty—
“Down by whar de beans grow blue.”
And no sooner had he finished it than (barely waiting for his meed of applause) he further regaled them with—
“Twould make a fellow
Turn green and yellow!
Finally, as a tit-bit, he contributed—