“An you mus’ be my man, ’r I’ll have no man at all——”
The choirmaster burst into a joyous if somewhat reedy tenor.
“There’ll be a hot time in the old town to-night!”
He whirled about, still singing, and caught the ecstatic, dreamy gaze of Tim Mullaly.
“It’s you!” he cried, pouncing on him. Tim giggled feebly.
“Yessir,” he said.
“Now sing this scale, and I’ll give you five cents.”
An envious sigh quavered through the parish hall.
Tim threw back his head and opened his drooping mouth.
“Do, re——”