‘cause you’ a fine, big man, an’ got a big, gran’ voice; ‘nen you learn befo’ long be a waituh, Genesis, an’ git dolluh an’ half ev’y even’ you waitin ’, ’sides all ’at money you make cuttin’ grass daytime.’  Well, suh, I’z stan’ up doin’ ’at ‘nouncin’ ve’y nex’ night.  White lady an’ ge’lmun walk todes my do’, I step up to ’em—­I step up to ’em thisaway.”

Here Genesis found it pleasant to present the scene with some elaboration.  He dropped the handle of the freezer, rose, assumed a stately, but ingratiating, expression, and “stepped up” to the imagined couple, using a pacing and rhythmic gait—­a conservative prance, which plainly indicated the simultaneous operation of an orchestra.  Then bending graciously, as though the persons addressed were of dwarfish stature, “’Scuse me,” he said, “but kin I please be so p’lite as to ‘quiah you’ name?” For a moment he listened attentively, then nodded, and, returning with the same aristocratic undulations to an imaginary doorway near the freezer, “Misto an’ Missuz Orlosko Rinktum!” he proclaimed, sonorously.

“Who?” cried Jane, fascinated.  “Genesis, ’nounce that again, right away!”

Genesis heartily complied.

“Misto an’ Missuz Orlosko Rinktum!” he bawled.

“Was that really their names?” she asked, eagerly.

“Well, I kine o’ fergit,” Genesis admitted, resuming his work with the freezer.  “Seem like I rickalect somebody got name good deal like what I say, ’cause some mighty blue-vein names at ’at dinnuh-potty, yessuh!  But I on’y git to be ’nouncer one time, ‘cause Fanny tellin’ me nex’ fam’ly have dinnuh-potty make heap o’ fun.  Say I done my ‘nouncin’ good, but say what’s use holler’n’ names jes’ fer some the neighbors or they own aunts an’ uncles to walk in, when ev’ybody awready knows ’em?  So Fanny pummote me to waituh, an’ I roun’ right in amongs’ big doin’s mos’ ev’y night.  Pass ice-cream, lemonade, lemon-ice, cake, samwitches.  ’Lemme han’ you li’l’ mo’ chicken salad, ma’am’—­’ ’Low me be so kine as to git you f’esh cup coffee, suh’—­’S way ole Genesis talkin’ ev’y even’ ’ese days!”

Jane looked at him thoughtfully.  “Do you like it better than cuttin’ grass, Genesis?” she asked.

He paused to consider.  “Yes’m—­when ban’ play all lem tunes!  My goo’ness, do soun’ gran’!”

“You can’t do it to-night, though, Genesis,” said Jane.  “You haf to be quiet on Sunday nights, don’t you?”

“Yes’m.  ‘Ain’ got no mo’ kaytun till nex’ Friday even’.”

“Oh, I bet that’s the party for Miss Pratt at Mr. Parcher’s!” Jane cried.  “Didn’t I guess right?”

“Yes’m.  I reckon I’m a-go’n’ a see one you’ fam’ly ’at night; see him dancin’—­wait on him at ref’eshmuns.”

Jane’s expression became even more serious than usual.  “Willie?  I don’t know whether he’s goin’, Genesis.”

“Lan’ name!” Genesis exclaimed.  “He die ef he don’ git INvite to ’at ball!”