"I'm going to do for you," said Le Baron's voice, breaking the charm—"I'm going to do what some one did for me when I came here last year."
He paused a moment, a little, too, under the spell of the night, perhaps, seeking how best to choose his words.
"It is a queer place you're coming into, and many men fail for not understanding it in time. I'm going to tell you a few things."
Again he stopped. Stover, waiting, heard across from the blazing sides of Farnam a piano's thin, rushing notes. Nearer, from some window unseen, a mandolin was quavering. Voices, calling, mingled in softened confusion.
"Oh, Charley Bangs—stick out your head."
"We want Billy Brown."
"Hello, there!"
"Tubby, this way!"
Then this community of faint sounds was lost as, from the fence, a shapeless mass beyond began to send its song towards him.