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“This here flower aint a mornin’-glory, but the leaves is mighty like it, an’ the flowers is jist as purty.” Moses explained. Zalhambra was a vaudeville artist. His was the star act on each bill. He was undeniably a genius; it needed but a few bars of fortissimo plus crescendo to realize that he was a virtuoso of the first rank. When he played a Rag the audience shouted with delight; but when he sprinkled torrential cadenzas through the dizzying syncopation, like some mighty giant tossing meteors into a handful of fire-crackers, something like an electric shock stirred his hearers. “A cat tablecloth!” the little girl laughed..
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Presently the little Chinese boy returned, his grin resumed, and a large basket on his arm. “Why have you been away out in the country for milk?” A pretty little figger, She shook her head..
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