He puffed at his cigar a moment to be sure that its fire should not flag, and sang on:
“The first scarlet huntsman blew into his horn,
Lirala, Lovely Morning, I’m glad I was born”;
The second red huntsman he whistled an air,
And the third sang, “Red Renard” is waiting us there.”
“Just such weather as this, Troubles,” he said, looking out into the swirl of snow. “Just the beautifulest kind of cross-country weather!” He sang on:
Three lovely ladies they met at the meet,
With whips in their hands and with boots on their feet;
And the gentlemen lifted their hats with a cheer,
As the girls said, “Red Renard is waiting you here.”
He quickened into the stanza he liked best:
Three scarlet huntsmen rode off by the side
Of three lovely ladies on horses of pride.
Said the first, “Call me Ellen”; the second, “I’m Claire”;
Said the third, “I’m Red Renard—so called from my hair.”
The train, which had been running more slowly, drew up with a chug, and some minutes passed before it again gathered itself and lurched on.
“That’s all right,” said Aladdin. He was quite warm now, and thoroughly happy.
Three scarlet huntsmen rode home from White Plains,
With its mud on their boots, and its girls on their brains;
And the first sang of Ellen, the second of Claire,
But the third sang, “Red Renard is waiting back there.”
He made a waggish face to finish with: