“Guess that’s all nonsense, Mr Monroe,” remarked Master Julius. “It’s the easiest thing in the world to talk. Anybody can do it.”
“Well—yes, I suppose anybody can,” returned Monroe. “But,” he continued, meaningly, “it is not everybody who can talk sense, Julius. Moreover, the art of conversation consists in knowing when to talk—and when to be silent.”
Master Julius, however, did not agree with this. He argued the point with Monroe so volubly and persistently that anything like general conversation became impossible, and he kept it up until Kennedy, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece, deposited his cigar stub in an ash tray and announced that the half-hour was up, and that it was time to adjourn to the drawing-room.
“Ah, here you are!” exclaimed Mrs Vansittart, who was seated at the open piano as we filed into the drawing-room, Master Julius well in advance. The boy marched straight across the room, without taking the slightest notice of his mother, and seated himself beside his sister, who occupied a settee in the far corner, and was apparently so deeply absorbed in a book that she was unaware of our entrance.
“Now, then,” continued our hostess, “it has gone one bell, and we have not very much time to spare. Which of you gentlemen will favour us with a song?”
“I suggest, madam, that you should call upon Mr Leigh,” said Monroe. “In response to a leading question put to him by our friend Kennedy, the young man has pleaded guilty to a limited ability as a singer, and he has also admitted that there are times when he scrapes upon a fiddle. Knowing Britishers as I do, it is my experience that when one of them goes so far as to say he can play or sing at all, he—or she—can usually do it pretty well; I am therefore not without hope that in Leigh we shall find we have a valuable addition to our stock of musical talent.”
“You don’t say!” ejaculated Mrs Vansittart vivaciously. “Well, I am glad; for I believe I have heard every one of your songs at least half a dozen times, Mr Monroe; and Mr Kennedy’s too, to say nothing about the doctor and the purser. Do you sing and play by ear, or from music, Mr Leigh?”
I explained that I did both, but preferred to have the music before me; and in answer to a further question I admitted the existence of certain books and sheets of music among my other belongings. Thereupon I was ordered off to my cabin, with instructions to fetch them and my fiddle forthwith. When I returned, Kennedy was trolling forth the song “Kathleen Mavourneen” in a deep, rich bass voice that made the spacious apartment ring again, while Mrs Vansittart accompanied him on the piano. But for all the attention that the youngsters gave to the song they might as well have been deaf!
When the song was finished, Mrs Vansittart beckoned me to her, and, taking my music from me, glanced through it. Among it were two volumes of Standard English Songs, a book of songs by Schubert, a book of sacred melodies consisting chiefly of solos and duets from the oratorios, another containing a selection of songs from various operas, and, in sheet, a few ballads and a quantity of music specially composed for the violin. As she glanced through my budget, our hostess volubly expressed her delight, and was pleased to compliment me very highly upon the taste which had dictated my choice. Then, opening one of the books of English songs and placing it before her on the piano, she invited me to sing “Twickenham Ferry”. The song happened to be rather a favourite of mine, and when I noticed the exquisite perfection with which she played the few bars of the introduction I just let myself go, and was rewarded for my pains by receiving what sounded like very genuine and hearty applause when the song came to an end.
Then Monroe, who was gifted with a really beautiful tenor voice, sang with much taste and feeling an old plantation song; after which Mrs Vansittart sang in Italian. Then, by way of a change, we had Gounod’s “Ave Maria”, Mrs Vansittart playing the accompaniment on the piano while I played the air on my fiddle and Monroe joined in with an obligato on the organ. So, in a very delightful way, to me at least, the evening was passed until four bells chimed out, when we closed the concert by rendering “Hail, Columbia!” with all the vocal and instrumental strength at our command.