orts of jerks and breaks when you are least
expecting them: that is what you call a `Gigue.' A bit of a scale
repeated over and over again like the tune the old cow died of: that is
a `Fugue.' I've a musical sister at home, so I know. Now, I don't
pretend to be classical; I like a good, rousing air--something that
makes you want to stamp your feet and beat time with your head. Look at
Miss Charrington laughing at me! I suppose as a matter of fact you
don't _know_ any airs, Miss Charrington?"

"I have a schoolboy brother," answered Hope demurely. She wheeled round
on the music-stool and looked at him with dancing eyes; and when Hope
looked mischievous, it was something very well worth seeing in those
days of young womanhood. "I blush to say," she said slowly--though as a
matter of fact she did not blush at all, but looked particularly beaming
and complacent--"I blush to say that there is not a single tune at
present performed upon the barrel-organs with which I am not intimately
acquainted. I shall be happy to accompany you, and to coach you in the
words, whenever you feel inclined to perform."

"Hurrah! Good business! Will you really!" cried Reggie, jumping to his
feet and hurrying across to the piano, abeam with delight. "Can you
manage `Mrs 'Enry 'Awkins'? That is my stock song, and I sing it
wherever I go.--Mrs Loftus, you are dying to hear me sing `Mrs 'Enry
'Awkins'? I know you are.--Let's tune up at once, Miss Charrington; and
a chorus, mind--a rousing old chorus!"

Every one was laughing, and looking of a sudden bright and animated; no
one was sleepy any longer. There was a secondary accompaniment of
chuckles as Reggie screwed up his thin, ugly face into the most comical
of grimaces and half-sang, half-recited the celebrated coster love-song.
Hope's spirited playing made him sing his best, and her clear voice
started the chorus with such spirit that presently every one was taking
part, tentatively at first, then with quickly growing ardour, until at
last the volume of sound became overpowering. Uncle Loftus bellowed
himself hoarse in his corner, and even his wife's lips moved in
sympathetic echo. At the conclusion of the song there was an outburst
of applause and laughter which made the performer beside himself with
delight.

"To think," he cried, "that we have wasted our time over Wagner and
Grieg, and all those foreign Johnnies, when we might have had music like
this! I'll sing every night;