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Updated: June 5, 2025
Reade stopped to speak with one of his reliable negroes, whom he found softly strumming a banjo under a tree. "Are there any visitors in camp to-night who shouldn't be here?" asked Tom. "I doan' beliebe so, boss," replied the colored man. "Dem gamblers an' bootleggers ain' done got bail yet, has they, sah?" "I don't believe they have," replied Tom. "There are no others of their kind here, then?"
Westby seated himself with his banjo across his knees and looked at Irving wonderingly. “The fellows seem pretty cheerful after their defeat, don’t they?” said Irving. A shadow crossed Westby’s face. “They’ve been very decent about it,” he answered. Irving put his hand on Westby’s arm. “Do you know why they’re so decent? It’s because you’ve cheered them up yourself.
In the meantime I am most thankful that I have no longer to listen to a piano that sounds like a banjo." The whole situation appealed forcefully to Miss Stanton's sense of humour, and she thoroughly enjoyed the old man's jesting. "If he can rise above a condition like that," she thought, "he must be a splendid man." She longed to comfort, to help him; but how?
He was distracted. Sadler paid no attention. He only twanged his banjo, and sang casual poetry, and Little Irish ran on: "'Tis Pete Hillary himself was pulled out forninst the sand-bar," he says, "an' he's back in Ferdinand Street, swearin' for the bucket o' wather he swallyed.
With a plaintive quirk of the voice the singer paused, gayly flicked the strings of the banjo, then put her hand flat upon them to stop the vibration and smiled round on her admirers. The group were applauding heartily. A chorus said, "Another verse, please, Mrs. Detlor." "Oh, that's all I know, I'm afraid," was the reply.
Tears were in Dorothy's eyes. She loved her school friends, and this was an affecting parting. Tavia snatched up the banjo. She sang: "Good night! Good night! Good night! Good night! Good night again; God bless you. And, oh, until we meet again, Good night! Good night! God bless you!"
Besides these several trademarks there are in addition various ingenious tricks that belonged to Willard and to nobody else. These a trained clockmaker instantly recognizes the use of brass pins to hold the dial in place, for one thing. So, you see, when a banjo clock comes your way there are various methods by which its genuineness can be tested.
He paused between the stanzas and picked his banjo to a few prose interpolations of his own. "Dat's what I'm a tellin' ye now, folks little do I care!" He knew his master had been crossed in love and he rolled his eyes and nodded his woolly head in triumphant approval. John smiled wanly as he drifted slowly into his next stanza.
Farge, in an ungovernable paroxysm of humour levelled at the departing housemaid effectually covered his retreat by cake-walking, with very high knee action, the length of the landing, playing appropriate dance-music, the while, upon an imaginary banjo in the shape of Worthington's new crook-handled walking stick.
"You are afraid of the night air, Cousin Janet?" "Never mind me," said Cousin Janet; "I'll sit here and fan myself." "And as I prefer music, especially the banjo, at a distance, I will stay too," said Mrs. Weston.
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