The Juggler looked very much surprised himself, and the Twins were simply astonished.
“Will you see that now!” Larry whispered to Eileen. “Sure, if only Old Speckle could be learning that trick, ’twould save her a deal of sitting.”
“Indeed, then, ’tis magic,” Eileen answered back, “and there’s no luck in that same! Do you come away now, Larry McQueen, or he might be casting his spells on yourself and turning you into something else entirely, a goat maybe, or a Leprechaun!”
This seemed quite likely to Larry, too, so they slipped hurriedly out under the elbows of the crowd just as the Juggler was in the very act of finding a white rabbit in the crown of his hat. They never stopped running until they found themselves in the middle of a group of people in a distant part of the Fairgrounds.
This crowd had gathered around a rough-looking man with a bundle of papers under his arm. He was waving a leaflet in the air and shouting, “Ladies and Gentlemen—Whist now till I sing you a song of Old Ireland. ’Tis the Ballad of the Census Taker!” Then he began to sing in a voice as loud as a clap of thunder. This was the first verse of the song:—
“Oh, they’re taking of the Census
In the country and the town.
Have your children got the measles?
Are your chimneys tumbling down?”
Every one seemed to think this a very funny song and at the end of the second verse they all joined in the chorus. The Ballad Singer sang louder than all the rest of the people put together.
“Musha, the roars of him are like the roars of a giant,” Eileen said to Larry. “Indeed, I’m fearing he’ll burst himself with the noise that’s in him.”
The moment the song ended, the Ballad Singer passed the hat, and the crowd began to melt away. “There you go, now,” cried the Singer, “lepping away on your two hind legs like scared rabbits! Come along back now, and buy the Ballad of ‘The Peeler and the Goat.’ Sure, ’tis a fine song entirely and one you’ll all be wanting to sing yourselves when once you’ve heard it.” He seized a young man by the arm. “Walk up and buy a ballad now,” he said to him. “Troth, you’ve the look of a fine singer yourself, and dear knows what minute you may be needing one, and none handy. Come now, buy before ’tis too late.”
The young man turned very red. “I don’t think I’ll be wanting any ballads,” he said, and tried to pull away.