"
"She's a lady, boys," exclaimed he who had offered to see after a
funeral, "a reg'lar slap-up, high-toned, blow-yer-eyes-don't-touch-me
lady; an' as she sees fit to do the civil to this fellar"--striking
himself on the chest--"he's just going to drop his professional name,
an' arsk yer to call him Mister Samuel K. Gregson, Esquire. Play on
that."
Next morning the inhabitants of Big Stone Hole were startled by reading
this announcement outside the cabin which Dan had resigned to Miss
Musgrave:
SINGING AND MUSIC TAUGHT.
LITERARY WORK DONE.
It was printed on a card, which was affixed to the door by means of a
drawing-pin, and from within came the sound of a contralto voice singing
to a guitar accompaniment. One by one the male residents of Big Stone
Hole drew near to that iron-roofed hut and stopped to listen; but after
commenting on the innovation in gleeful whispers--for guitar had never
twanged in that part of Africa before--they moved on to their work. No
consideration could cause them to neglect that. They might fritter away
the dull, rough gems when they had found them, but the lust of handling
diamonds once was the strongest passion they knew.
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