"That is why," he explained seriously.
"Well, then, why don't you sing? You are not untidy."
"Nothing could suit my pensive and melancholy mood better," he said sadly.
A moment later, sitting outside her door, he began with deep emotion to sing one of Kirk's melting melodies:
"With head bowed low a dentist stood
Before his office chair;
A handsome lady customer
Into his eyes did stare.
He tried to fake a careless smile
And hide his drooping jaw,
But all in vain because his guilt
Was plainly to be saw.
His voice was choked with shame and fear,
He said, 'Forgive me, miss!'
But when he begged her pardon there
The lady then did hiss:
Chorus.
"'Take back them teeth you made me! I
Won't wear them in my face!
Go hang them in your parlor as
A badge of your disgrace.
You swore them crowns was solid gold!
You're false—like teeth and men!
Take back them teeth, you lobster!
Never speak to me again!
Take back—take ba-ack—take ba-a-a——'"
"Jack!" she exclaimed, "that is the most—most degraded thing I ever heard you utter!"
"I'm accustoming you, by degrees, to my repertoire. With infinite precautions you will, in time, be able to endure much worse than this," he explained kindly. "Now, what shall we try next, dear lady? I have a little song called: 'Only a pint of shoe strings!'"
"Don't you dare attempt it! ... Jack, please go away. Won't you, when I ask it?"
"She mutters the unthinkable," he said, shaking his head. "My music has unseated her reason. By and by she will begin to moan and revive."
"It's perfectly outrageous," she said, tearing up what she had written, and moving aside a little so that sufficient space remained for—her sister, perhaps. So he entered the summer house and waited for an invitation, bland, cheerful, irresistible.