“De first dude, Chile, I eber had, was a lil, lil buoy, ... wid no hair (whatsoeber at all), bal’ like a calabash!” Mrs. Mouth replied, as her daughter Edna entered with the lamp.
“Frtt!” the wild thing tittered, setting it down with a bang: with her cincture of leaves and flowers, she had the éclat of a butterfly.
“Better fetch de shade,” Mrs. Mouth exclaimed, staring squeamishly at Miami’s shadow on the wall.
“Already it grow dark; no one about now at dis hour ob night at all.”
“Except thieves an’ ghouls,” Mrs. Mouth replied, her glance straying towards the window.
But only the little blue-winged Bats were passing beneath a fairyland of stars.
“When I do dis, or dis, my shadow appear as formed as Mimi’s!”
“Sh’o, Edna, she dat provocative to-day.”
“Be off at once, Chile, an’ lay de table for de ebenin’ meal; an’ be careful not to knock de shine off de new tin-teacups,” Mrs. Mouth commanded, taking up an Estate-Agent’s catalogue, and seating herself comfortably beneath the lamp.
“‘City of Cuna-Cuna,’” she read, “‘in the Heart of a Brainy District (within easy reach of University, shops, etc.). A charming, Freehold Villa. Main drainage. Extensive views. Electric light. Every convenience.’”