"Now this was a right gentle old man. He lived by hisself in a tumble down shack at the end of our street, but he was the most gentlemanly old butler we ever had."
"Never could recall where he said he born. But he's American, that's for sure."
"Right down to the bones, American. Used to sing the blues for us on the sweltering hot summer afternoons, and then he'd blow that old trombone 'o his, just to show that he could still do it."
"Don't know where he's gotten to now. Left a few years back, to do a walkabout of this here continent we's a livin' on."
"And he ain't never come back."
"Sometimes I hear that old song 'o his clear as if he was right here a singin'."
"Seems a right shame he didn't never come back. We's amissin' him so."
"Well maybe he's gone up to his maker. Sometimes with these old men, it's what they do before they die. Go on up and start walking to heaven. And singin' as they go."
"Well then maybe I's hearing 'im singin from that place then, if that's whern he gone."
"God bless his soul."
Writing by Regina Stemberger