ar concert held during the effective blockade of an
enemy's empire, scenery was out of the question. So, as one of the
recognised members of the sing-song party, he sang--with, be it added,
considerable effect.

"The next item," announced the First Lieutenant (who knew his audience
better even than they knew him), "is a comic song entitled, 'Hold
tight, Emma!' by Stoker Williams."

This was "Taff" Williams, Stoker First-class, comedian tenth-class, and
master of patter unintelligible (mercifully so, perhaps) to any but a
bluejacket audience. He was a wisp of a man with a pale, beardless
face and small features; incidentally, too, the scrum half of the
ship's Rugby team and the referee's terror.

But he was more than this: he was the ship's wag, and so was greeted
with shouts and whistles of approval as he stepped on to the stage
attired in the burlesque counterfeit of an airman's costume.

Perhaps you might not have thought his song so very funny after all.
It might even have struck you as vulgar, since it depended for its
humour upon gorgonzola cheese, the eldest son of the German Emperor,
_mal-de-mer_, and a number of other things not considered amusing in
polite society. But the sailor's susceptibilities are peculiar: they
were there to enjoy themselves, and again and again a great gust of
laughter swept over the audience as an autumn gale convulses the trees
on the outskirts of a forest. The singer's topical allusions, sly
incomprehensibilities, he flung about him like bombs that burst in an
unfailing roar of delight among his shipmates. No wonder they liked
him; and even the padre, who perforce had to knit his brows once or
twice, looked regretful when the last encore was over.

Taff Williams's song was succeeded by a duet. The singers were also
comedians, but of a different calibre. Some odd freak of Nature had
fashioned them both astoundingly alike in face and frame. They were
baldish men, short and sturdy, with sandy eyebrows and lashes of so
light a colour as to be almost invisible. Their countenances were
round and expressionless, and their song, which was called "We are the
Brothers Boo-Hoo!" contained little beyond reiterations of the fact,
interspersed with "steps" of a solemn and intricate nature.

Ordinarily their avocations and walks in life were separated by a wide
gulf. One was a Petty Officer and L.T.O., the other a stoker. But
Fame recognises no distinctions of class or calling, and