"Major d'Arcy sir, I charge to you!" Hereupon Sir Benjamin filled and bowed, the Major did the same, and they drank together.
"But Ben," persisted Alvaston, "if Tony——"
"West, the floor and our attention are yours, sir!"
The Captain rose, shot his ruffles, squared his shoulders and read:
"Warble ye songsters of the grove—haw!
Warble of her that is my love
Where'er on pinions light ye rove
Haw!
Ye feathered songsters—warble.
"Warble ye heralds of the—haw!—the air
Warble her charms beyond compare
Warble here and warble there
Haw!
Ye feathered songsters—warble.
Warble, warble on the spray
Warble night and warble day
Warble, warble whiles ye may
Haw!
Ye feathered songsters—warble."
"A pretty thing!" nodded Sir Benjamin, "'tis light, 'tis graceful—easy, flowing, and full of——"
"Warbles!" murmured Alvaston.
"'Tis a musical word, sir, and what is poesy but word-music? I commend 'warble' heartily—we all do, I think."
Here a chorus of approval whereupon the Captain bowed, shot his ruffles again, said 'Haw!' and sat down.