"Watson? Watson wants to see me?" repeated the seemingly puzzled book agent. "Oh, I know what he wants; he wants to buy one of my books; but I can't miss the train to sell it to him."
"If that is all he wants, I can pay for it and take it to him. How much is it?"
"Two dollars for the 'Early Christian Martyrs,'" said the book agent as he reached for the money and passed the book out the car-window.
Just then Mr. Watson arrived, puffing and blowing, in his shirt sleeves. As he saw the train pull out he was too full for utterance.
"Well, I got it for you," said Stevens; "just got it and that's all."
"Got what?"
"Got the book—'Early Christian Martyrs,' and paid——"
"By-the-great-guns!" moaned Watson, as he placed his hand to his brow and swooned right in the middle of the street.
THE COON'S LULLABY
ANONYMOUS
Heah, yo' Rastus, shet yo' sleepy head,
Mammy's gwine tuh rock huh lamb tuh res'—
Ebry little possom coon am sleepin' in its bed,
Yo's my precious honey—yes yo' am.
Swing oh; swing oh;—Lucy whar yo' bin so late?
Lemme catch a niggah courtin' you, yes you!
Hurry up yo' rascals fo' dah's corn bread on de plate,
Fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do!