The captain knew, as the voice went on, that those barytone notes were very fine ones--knew better than the rest, as having a wider acquaintance with voices in general. But they all understood that it was to no ordinary singer they were listening.
When the song ended the captain reached over and laid a brotherly arm on Doctor Churchill's shoulder. "Welcome, friend," he said, with feeling in his voice. "You've given the countersign."
But the doctor, although he received modestly the words of praise which fell upon him from all about, would sing no more that day. It had been the first time for almost three years. And "The Sweetest Flower That Blows" was not only Mrs. Birch's favourite song; it had been Mrs. Churchill's also.
"See here, Churchill," said Lanse, as the orchestra rested for a moment, "do you play any instrument?"
"Only as a novice," admitted the doctor, with some reluctance.
"Which one?"
"The fiddle."
"And never owned up!" chided Lanse. "You didn't want to belong to such an amateurish company?"
"I did--very much," said Churchill, with emphasis. "But you needed no more violins."
"If I'm to be away all next year," said Celia, quickly, "they will need you. Will you take my place?"