“Hell! I don’ feel like goin’ up in yonder an’ lissen at dat kind o’ thing,” he suddenly concluded. “I’m goin’ set hyuh on de step till dey raise some yuther ballet mo’ sattafyin’ to de feelin’s,” he went on, looking about for a dry spot to sit down. “Dey oughta try an’ sing somh’n mo’ pleasin’ over Tempe. ’Stead o’ keep tellin’ ’uh w’at Death goin’ do; after Gawd done seen fit to snatch ’uh away from hyuh so haphazzud.” After a while the melodious flowing wave began to recede; growing fainter and fainter, until the subdued lament faded away into a low murmuring hum. It was soothing and pleasant, Gussie thought; and he sat listening indolently. Very soon he heard the velvety sound of a woman’s vibrant contralto voice intone a line of another ballet. One by one the members took up the somber burden, proclaiming the simple words with full-voiced exultation. Getting up to go in, Gussie stopped suddenly, as the last lines came to him.... “Sinner, don’t let this harves’ pass, An’ die an’ go to Hell at las’....” The singing irritated him. It made him uncomfortable to think of the unwelcome message. Why did it disturb him, he asked himself. Was it the slow, sad minor tune? Or the cold, direct words of the song? “Great Gawd A’mighty!” He said to himself, starting to go down the steps. “If da’s de onles’ kind o’ singin’ dey goin’ do hyuh tonight; ’tain no pleasure for me to linger hyuh.... Shucks! I’m goin’ yonder ’cross de Green an’ lay down an’ sleep.” Trying to forget his disappointment, he began to whistle a cheerful tune and started down the street in the direction of the East Green. The rain was over, but the air was damp and chilly; and long fringes of clouds were passing across the moon in slow-moving rifts. The houses along the road were all closed, and everything was dark and still. What would he tell Aunt Fisky about the quilt, he asked himself. Poor old soul;—he sho counted on bringing it home to her for a nice surprise.... Look like out of five chances, one number sho oughta made him win the thing.... Maybe Carmelite didn’t pick him five numbers for the four-bits he gave her.... And Aunt Fisky needed a good warm quilt, too.... And needed it more than anybody they had sittin’ up in Carmelite’s house.... His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a bell floating across the Green, not very far away. Looking up, he saw the reflection of a head-light on the switch engine coming towards him.