De time is right now, en dish yer’s de place—
Let de sun er salvashun shine squar’ in yo’ face;
Fight de battles er de Lord, fight soon en fight late,
En you’ll allers fine a latch ter de golden gate.
No use fer ter wait twel ter-morrer,
De sun mustn’t set on yo’ sorrer—
Sin’s es sharp ez a bamboo-brier—
Ax de Lord fer ter fetch you up higher!”
Jack had sung the old song delightfully, with the colorful wails of the darky and deserved the thanks and applause he got for singing it. He refused to sing any more, saying he wanted to smoke.
“I’ll sing you one,” volunteered Charlie immodestly.