Another boy was called upon to sing after Harry Venniker; then Gerald.
He hesitated a little, and did not begin when the pianist began.
‘Look sharp, I say,’ said Tracy; ‘we can’t wait here all night.’
In a low tone, rather tremulously, he sang a verse; then, as he approached the words of the chorus, his voice showed signs of faltering. At the second line he stopped; the pianist left him behind again. The boys all looked at him in surprise.
‘I tell you what it is, youngster,’ said Tracy, ‘every new chap has got to sing a verse; that’s the rule of the house; and if you don’t choose to sing, it will be the worse for you.’
Gerald looked round the Hall as the victim at an auto-da-fé may often have cast his eyes around the ring of spectators without discerning a movement of sympathy on any face; the boys did not even understand what his difficulty was.
‘Now, then,’ said Tracy; and the boy at the piano began the chorus once more.
Gerald repeated the words:—
‘You may laugh ... said Uncle Sam,
But ... I ... do not ... care;’
then he broke down, hid his face in his hands, and rushed from the Hall.