Then they all came in on the chorus:—
“He is our Lou, he is our honey-Lou,
He is our pride and joy;
He is our Loo-loo, he is our Loo-loo,
He is our Lou-Lou boy.”
“Silly song!” exclaimed Collingwood with disgust.
“Wes made it up just this evening, at Mrs. Barclay’s,” said Dennison. “We were all singing, and after a while Wes edged in to the piano and sprung this on us. Don’t you think it’s a good song?”
“So good that I wish I could furnish inspiration for another,” said Irving.
Westby joined in the laugh and looked pleased.
“Good-night, everybody,” said Collingwood; he walked away to his room. The others followed, all except Westby, to whom Irving said,—
“Will you wait a moment? I should like to have a little talk with you.” He led the boy into his room and pushed forward his armchair.
Westby seated himself with his banjo across his knees and looked at Irving wonderingly.
“The fellows seem pretty cheerful after their defeat, don’t they?” said Irving.