“That dead boy used to have cheeks like mud, gen’l’men,” Brick went on, in his funny, flat voice. “This boy have pale cheeks. He mos’ white.”
“Brick,” said Titus, solemnly, “we’ve taken off ten layers of dirt.”
“Young sah,” continued Brick, with dancing eyeballs, “the young cullid fellahs down at the hotel, they wears buttins.”
His cunning glance searched Titus’s face.
“Well, you shall have plenty of buttons to wear,” replied Titus, agreeably. “We’ll stud you with them till you don’t know which is button and which is boy.”
Brick gave a shrill whistle and leaped in the air. Then he began to dance—to dance with such glee and so much comicality that the three boys were presently exploding with laughter.
“Come on; this isn’t work,” exclaimed Titus, suddenly. “I see Betty coming out with the first call to dinner. Let’s clear up this mess, ‘gen’l’men.’ Here, Brick, you help.”
The colored boy took hold with a will, and soon the room was as tidy as when they had entered it.
“Put some life into that dog,” commanded Titus, pointing to Bylow.
Brick ran at him, caught him round the middle of his body, and danced round the room with him till he had no breath left.