"The business of the evening is over, Mr. Tidkins," said Mr. Tunks,—for so the Bully Grand was named; "and we are now deep in the pleasures of the meeting, as you see. Help yourself! There are spirits of all kinds, and pipes or cigars—whichever you prefer."
"Have you any information to give me?" inquired Tidkins in a low tone.
"Plenty—but not at this moment, Mr. Tidkins. Take a glass of something to dispel the cold; and by-and-bye we will talk on matters of business. There is plenty of time; and many of my young friends here would no doubt be proud to give you a specimen of their vocal powers. Let me see—who's turn is it?"
"Leary Lipkins's, sir," whispered a boy who sate near the Bully Grand.
"Oh! Leary Lipkins—is it?" said Tunks aloud. "Now, brother Lipkins, the company are waiting for an opportunity to drink to your health and song."
Mr. Lipkins—a sharp-looking, hatchet-faced, restless-eyed youth of about sixteen—did not require much pressing ere he favoured his audience with the following sample of vocal melody:—
THE SIGN OF THE FIDDLE.
There's not in all London a tavern so gay,
As that where the knowing ones meet of a day:
So long as a farthing remains to my share,