"'Oh, Baxter is the boy for me,
So fall of merriment and glee:
And when I want a funny man,
I turn to any old Puritan:—
A Puritan,
A funny man,
I read the works of a Puritan!
Among the Puritan divines
Old Cotton Mather brightest shines,
And he could be a funny man,
Because he was a Puritan:—
A Puritan,
A funny man,
Old Mather was a Puritan!
The old Blue-Laws, of all the best,
Od Calvin made in solemn jest;
For fun he never could tolerate.
Unless established by the State:—
A Puritan,
A funny man,
John Calvin was a Puritan!"
This eccentric song Brooke droned out in nasal tones and with a lachrymose whine to the strangest tune that ever was heard. At its close he heaved a sigh, and said:
"Well, it's dry work singing hymns all by myself, and you won't even 'jine' in the choruses, and so—I'll stop the machine."
Saying this, he turned away and went to the opposite side of the small loft, where he sat down with his head against the wall.
"Does any lady or gentleman present object to smoking?" said he, after a brief pause, as he drew forth his pipe and smoking materials. "Because I propose to take a smoke, and I should like to know, just out of curiosity."
To this Talbot made no reply, but sat down opposite Brooke, in the same attitude, and watched him as he smoked, which he proceeded to do without any further delay.
"You don't smoke, I believe, sir," said he, with all gravity.
Talbot said nothing.
"Well," said Brooke, "I wouldn't advise you to begin;" and with that he went on puffing away.
Brooke at last finished his smoke, after which he put his pipe in his pocket, and then, throwing his head back, sat with his eyes obstinately fixed on the ceiling.