“How can I help it?” laughed the one addressed. “I’ve got to stand somewhere, haven’t I?”
The conductor wiped his perspiring brow.
“Well, of all the young limbs!” he ejaculated. But his frown quickly melted into a grin. He had boys of his own.
“They can only be kids once,” he muttered, as he gave the engineer the signal to go ahead.
Inside the cars, all was cheerful hubbub and confusion.
“Give us a song, Billy!” shouted one.
The request was greeted by a roar of unanimous approval.
“What shall it be?” grinned Billy Burton, who seldom had to be coaxed.
There was a chorus of suggestions, for Billy’s repertoire was very extensive. The majority seemed to favor: “We All Sit Round and Listen, When Hiram Drinks His Soup,” although there was a strong minority for “When Father Carves the Duck.” In order to satisfy them all, Billy sang both ditties to a thunder of applause.
He had to respond to numerous encores, and when at last he was too hoarse to sing any longer, the crowd fell back on “Ten Little Injuns” and “Forty-nine Bluebottles, a-Hanging on the Wall,” together with other school favorites. There were any number of discords and any amount of flatting, but little things like that did not bother the young minstrels. They wanted noise and plenty of it. And no one in that train could deny that they got what they wanted.