The inquiry was drowned in applause, which swelled as the mate and the exhorter went out with the latter's two backers—more eagle-eyed and stallion-eyed than ever—and with Watson's cub at the rear. A number stretched up for a glimpse of Ramsey but she too—and the actor—and Joy—were gone. There was another waiting hush, and the droll singer, so droll because so granite solemn, resumed:
"Den turkle-dove an' blue-bird blue,
Den turkle-dove an' blue-bird blue,
Den turkle-dove an' blue-bird blue,
De merry-go-roun' and de hullabaloo.
Do you belong——?"
Applause! Was that the end? Not if the applauders could help it! The day was coming when a boiler-deck and pilot-house tradition, heard by many with hearty enjoyment, by many with silent disdain, would be this: that aboard the old Votaress on her first up trip—late spring of '52—cholera on every deck—mutiny hotly smouldering—the unreason of fear and of wrath were beaten in fair fight by the unreason of mirth, and men's, women's, children's lives—no telling how many—were saved, through the cleverness of some play-actors and first the youngest of all the Hayles and then the youngest of all the Courteneys singing a nonsense song! Sing it! sing on!
He sang on:
"Den de grizzly-b'ah and den de mole,
De grizzly-b'ah and den de mole,