And as though by force of magic, the nasal soprano of an invisible songstress rattled forth with tinkling gusto a music-hall air with a sparkling refrain.
“And the boys shout Girlie, hi!
Bring me soda, soda, soda,
(Aside, spoken) (Stop your fooling there and let me alone!)
For I’m an Ice Cream Soda Girl.”
“It put me in mind ob de last sugar-factory explosion! It was de same day dat Snowball crack de Tezzrazine record. Drat de cat.”
“O, Lordey Lord! Wha’ for you make dat din?” Mr. Mouth complained, knotting a cotton handkerchief over his head.
“I hope you not gwine to be billeous, honey, afore we get to Lucia?”
“Lemme alone. Ah’m thinkin’....”