“Cherry! Cherry! We want Cherry! We want the Singin’ Angel.”
The Singin’ Angel, that is what they came at last to call her. That was because of Sunday nights, for on that night they left the Old Chariot at home, put lovin’ Johnny to bed early, rolled the barrel far back in the corner, and pushed “The Old Rugged Cross” right out in front.
No one seemed to mind. Indeed they appeared to love that hour of the week best of all. In times such as this people cling to their religion. One moment “Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me” would go rolling on and on from end to end of the subway.
Some one in the orchestra would start “Throw Out The Lifeline to danger frought men.”
Then Cherry in her strong young voice would sing:
“When all my trials and troubles are o’er
And I am safe on that beautiful shore
That will be glory, be glory for me.”
“Now!” she would cry. “Everybody sing!”
“Oh! That will be glory for me,