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Updated: May 4, 2025
I was afraid he would not like them, remembering what he had said to Patti about hers. I was amused at his gala dress for royalty: a much-too-big redingote, a white tie tied a good deal to one side, and only one wig. He says that he is seventy-three years old. I must say that this is difficult to believe, for he does not look it by ten years. He never accepts any invitations.
Forty years ago and yet even to-day the perfume of a roasted apple never greets me but I stand once more in the old-fashioned room listening to the sound of Nathan's flute; I see again the stately, silver-haired, high-bred mistress of the mansion with her kindly greeting, as she moves among her guests; I catch the figure of that old darkey with his brown, bald head and the little tufts of gray wool fringing its sides, as he shuffles along in his blue coat and baggy white waistcoat and much-too-big gloves, and I hear the very tones of his voice as he pushes his seductive tray before me and whispers, confidentially: "Take a li'l ob de apple, sah; dat's whar de real 'spression oh de toddy is."
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