"By hear, sir—only by hear," said Mr. Brimberly modestly, as, having placed bottle and glass upon the piano within convenient reach, he seated himself upon the stool, struck three or four stumbling chords and then, vamping an accompaniment a trifle monotonous as to bass, burst forth into song:
"It was a rich merchant that in London did dwell,
He had but one daughter, a beautiful gell,
Which her name it was Dinah, scarce sixteen years old,
She'd a very large fortune in silver and gold."
Chorus:
"Ri tooral ri tooral ri tooral i-day,
Ri tooral ri tooral ri tooral i-day."
It was now that Mr. Ravenslee, his rough clothes replaced by immaculate attire, entered unostentatiously, and, wholly unobserved by the company, seated himself and lounged there while Mr. Brimberly sang blithely on:
"As Dinah was a-walking in her garden one day,
Her father came to her and thus he did say:
'Come wed yourself, Dinah, to your nearest of kin,
Or you shan't have the benefit of one single pin!'"
"Ri tooral ri too—"
Here Mr. Jenkins, chancing to catch sight of that unobtrusive figure, let fall his banjo with a clatter, whereupon Mr. Brimberly glancing around, stopped short in the middle of a note, and sat open-mouthed, staring at his master.
"Enjoying a musical evening, Brimberly?"
Mr. Brimberly blundered to his feet, choked, gasped, groped for his whiskers, and finally spoke: