“She’s too diffident at present to sing before all you ruffians,” cried Peace, with a smile. “No, no, guv’nor, I want her to do better things than that.”
“Well, but it ’ud be good practice, you know,” observed the gipsy.
“Possibly; but she’s not my daughter, and I can’t do as I like. She’s only my pupil, and is at present but a beginner.”
“She does jolly well for a beginner, old man,” cried the publican, “and there’s a lot in her. She’s a lump of talent—any one can see that.”
“Shut up,” said Peace; “you’ll make the child vain.”
“Well, I’m sorry I spoke, if you take it like that.”
“Here, this is your sort of customer,” observed Peace, making a motion to his billygoat.
The animal at once stood on its hind legs, and, as its master played a merry tune, danced to the sound of the music in a most comical and grotesque manner.
The occupants of the parlour laughed till they cried again.
Peace put the goat through a number of tricks and antics, which were irresistibly droll.