Sure—ly the Captain may de—pend on me,
Though but an ar—mour-bear—er I may be.”
The pure, sweet voice of Doodles carried the song on and on without touch of weariness. He was never lonely when he could sing, and now that Caruso was not there he often sung the hours away. The Flatiron was familiar with the singing of Doodles. All up and down the long halls busy mothers and tired toilers would open their doors to the heartening music. They did not stop to ask whether the voice was remarkable or not; it was pleasant to hear, and there was never over-much pleasure in The Flatiron. A few realized that while they were listening they forgot the hard life that bound them, and forgetfulness even for a time was worth while.
Bravely rang the last verse.
“On—ly an armour-bear—er, yet may I share
Glo—ry im—mor—tal, and a bright crown wear:
If, in the bat—tle, to my trust I’m true,
Mine shall be the hon—ors in the Grand Re—view.
“Hear ye the battle cry!—”
The boy stopped suddenly, for an old man was in the doorway. He had removed his hat, and stood panting from his climb of the three flights.