"Yes, we're rather fond of singing." I heard George Giver's resolute tones.
Harvey Dole gave a low, expressive whistle.
"I like it, certainly, ahem! I do. I like it, you know," said Lovell Barlow.
"We have a singin' time generally every night," said Harvey. "Sometimes Madeline plays for us on her music, and sometimes we go down to Becky's. Madeline's melodeon is very soft and purty, but George here, he likes the tone of Beck's organ best, I reckon. Eh, George?"
Harvey winked facetiously at George Olver, who reddened deeply but did not cast down his eyes.
"If I was you, George," continued the merciless Harvey; "I'd lay for that Rollin. Gad, I'd set a match to his hair. I'd nettle him!"
"I'd show him his p-p-place!" stammered Ned Vickery, with considerable warmth.
"I would, certainly," reiterated the automatic Lovell "I'd show him his place, you know; I would certainly."
The big veins swollen out in George Giver's forehead knitted themselves there for an instant sternly.
"I don't interfere with no man's business," said he. "So long as he means honorable, and car'ies out his actions fa'r and squar', I don't begrudge him his chance nor meddle in his affa'rs."