‘What a voice that chap has!’ said Saxonstowe’s companion. ‘It’s like a wheel that hasn’t been oiled for months!’
‘Will yer kindly put a penny in my little tambourine,
For a gentleman in khaki ordered sou-outh?’
chanted the polisher of tin pans.
‘They have a saying in Yorkshire,’ remarked Saxonstowe, ‘to the effect that it’s a poor heart that never rejoices.’
‘This chap must have a good ’un, then,’ said the other. Give us a pipeful of tobacco, will you, Saxonstowe? Lord! will those guns never stop?’
‘For the colonel’s lady and Judy O’Grady,
Are sisters hunder their skins,’
sang the henchman.
‘Will our vocalist never stop?’ said Saxonstowe, handing over his pouch. ‘He seems as unconcerned as if he were on a Bank Holiday.’
‘We wos as ’appy as could be, that dye,
Dahn at the Welsh ’Arp, which is ’Endon—’
The raucous voice broke off suddenly; the close-cropped Cockney head showed at the open flap of the tent.