A well-bred laugh greeted his announcement.
"Do you sing?" questioned the young woman.
"I thought I did once."
"When was that?"
"At a Sunday-school picnic that I attended at home in Piedmont."
"Oh! And did you sing?"
"They all said I didn't. They said my voice was a poor imitation of a steam calliope."
The well-bred laughter of the little company was lost in a roar. A glance at Hickey's twinkling eyes told them that he was far from dull, and that he was enjoying the fun he was creating fully as much as the rest were.
"So, you didn't sing after all?"
"No, I didn't sing. I just made a noise that might have been singing—if it had been."