cation of hand-embroidered pink hosiery. Upon her lap rested a guitar. In her face was the light of resurrection, the peace of elysium attained through fire and suffering. She was singing to a lively accompaniment a little song:
Comin’ up like a balloon,
Dis nigger skips fur to kiss de lips
Ob 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.”
