ong:
"When you see de big round moonComin'' up like a balloon,Dis nigger skips fur to kiss de lipsOb his stylish, black-faced coon."The singer caught sight of Armstrong.
"Hi! there, Johnny," she called; "I''ve been expecting you for an hour. What kept you? Gee! but these smoked guys are the slowest you ever saw. They ain''t on, at all. Come along in, and I''ll make this coffee- coloured old sport with the gold epaulettes open one for you right off the ice."
"Thank you," said Armstrong; "not just now, I believe. I''ve several things to attend to."
He walked out and down the street, and met Rucker coming up from the Consulate.
"Play you a game of billiards," said Armstrong. "I want something to take the taste of the sea level out of my mouth."
Memoirs of a Yellow Dog
I don''t suppose it will knock any of you people off your perch to read a contribution from an animal. Mr. Kipling and a good many others have demonstrated the fact that animals can express themselves in remunerative English, and no magazine goes to press nowadays without an animal story in it, except the old-style monthlies that are still running pictures of Bryan and the Mont Pelee horror.
But you needn''t look for any stuck-up literature in my piece, such as Bearoo, the bear, and Snakoo, the snake, and Tammanoo, the tiger, talk in the jungle books. A yellow dog that''s spent most of his life in a cheap New York flat, sleeping in a corner on an old sateen underskirt (the one she spilled port wine on at the Lady Longshoremen''s banquet), mustn''t be expcctcd to perform any tricks with the art of speech.