“Yes, of course, I know that.”
“And where am I to get fresh pictures?”
The Governor looked attentive.
“They would come to the first show,” explained the planter patiently, “and enjoy it, they would come to the second night, the third night they'd grumble, and after that they'd laugh at me for a fool.”
“H'm—ha—h'm. Well, what about dancing? They're fond of dancing?”
“Of course.”
“Would you put them up a dancing hall?”
“With a floor?”
“Of course.”
And the planter sighed again for his wasted time, for everyone—except this Governor apparently—knows that the West Indian negro dances every night of his life very happily on the bare earth by the light of the stars or the moon! And I agree with the planter such exercise is a great deal more wholesome taken in the fresh air as the plantation hands are content to take it.