“Go to thunder!”
“And there’s another thing, Dan. I don’t just like that line about lifting our voices. It suggests exertion. Now, I might lift my voice without much trouble, but just imagine Tom trying to lift that heavy croak of his! He’d break his back at it! Why don’t you——”
“You’re an idiot,” said Dan good-naturedly.
“Let’s sing it,” suggested Alf. “How’s the tune go? That’s it! All together, now!”
They sang it several times, until they had learned the words, much to the distress of neighbors who protested with groans and howls. Then they sang both verses.
“That’s a mighty good song,” announced Tom at last, pausing for breath. “It’s better than anything we’ve had. You ought to get somebody to write down the tune, though, before Alf changes it entirely. Can you do it, Dan?”
“No, I wish I could.”
“Take it to Paul Rand,” said Alf. “He’s a regular dabster at music. The only criticism I have to make, Dan, is that your verses lack ginger. You’ve got some awfully fine words in them, but they’re—well, sort of flabby. I’ll bet I could write a verse to that song that would wake you up a bit. Who’s got a pencil?”
He sat up and disentangled his legs.