their
next club smoker. Baldwin demanded the last verse again, and Ewing sang
it, from his chair this time, redoubling his efforts to bring out its
pathos.

In the new applause that deafened him he felt reassured. At least they
were not laughing at _him_. He joined weakly in the merriment. The gods
had blessed him with a gift for silence at critical moments. He asked no
questions.

As the mirth subsided voices were heard unctuously rehearsing choice
lines from the song. A passion for the ballad pathetic had been aroused.
Some one called on Chalmers.

"Chalmers has written a song himself--give it to us, Chalmers--the one
you sang up at Needham's the other night." Chalmers took his place and
bowed low as the accompanist poised eager hands above the key-board.

"Gentlemen, with your kind attention, I'll give you a little thing
called 'Nothing but Mother'--words and music by a party that doesn't
want his real name known because the folks back home might hear of it.
Let her go, Professor!"

In a twangy, nasal voice, not unlike Ben's, enunciating his words with
the fastidious and strained precision of the music-hall balladist, he
began:

"The courtroom, it was crowded,
All the witnesses was there;
The Judge he sat a-frowning
In his highly cushioned chair.
They was trying a old lady
For the stealing of a horse;
They had hauled her to the station,
_They_ had dragged her there by force!"

The last line had been achieved with intense, passionate emphasis.
Ewing, listening intently, felt the pricking of a nameless suspicion.
The song seemed right enough, and yet some queer, ulterior emotion
stirred within him. The air continued in a stirring minor, adapted to
the dramatic action:

"Then uprose a handsome lawyer,
But would not give his name;
He defended this old lady
And well he done the same.
The verdict was "Not guilty!"
_Tears_ stood in the jury's eyes;
When the unknown lawyer heard it,
Then says he to their surprise:"

With secret consternation Ewing waited, trying to laugh with the others,
who had exploded at "_tears_," wrenched out in a high minor wail. The
air now took a graceful swinging waltz movement, and the puzzled youth
suffered an illumining flash:

"She was my mother once
In days of long ago;
I'll not forsake her now,
Her lots has fell so low.
I have other mothers now