"I heard Mr. McCarthy sing last night," said the girl, acknowledging the informal presentation. "He sings well."
"So I should guess," remarked Clancy dryly. "Swanson has been bellowing his praise of it until everyone on the train thinks we have grabbed a grand opera star who can hit 400."
McCarthy found himself talking with Miss Taber and Mrs. Clancy and laughing at the quaint half brogue of the manager's buxom wife as if they had known each other all their lives. Clancy himself had little to say. The conversation had drifted to discussion of the country through which the train was running and McCarthy suddenly ceased talking.
"I always have loved this part of the valley," said Miss Taber. "When I was a little girl father brought me on a trip and I remember then picking out a spot on the hills across the river where, some day, I wanted to live. I never pass it without feeling the old desire. Have you been through this country before?"
The question was entirely natural, but McCarthy reddened as he admitted it was his first trip.
"And what part of the world do you come from?" asked Mrs. Clancy.
"I'm from the West," he responded. "Probably that is why I admire this green country so much."
"What is your home town?" persisted Mrs. Clancy.
Miss Taber, scenting an embarrassing situation, strove to change the subject, but Mrs. Clancy refused to be put off.
"Why is it you are ashamed of your home and play under another name, boy?" she demanded.