"Sorry to say I don't," replied the other; "though that ought to have fetched him hurrying out, to see what lunatic asylum had broken loose. Hit up another verse, my boy, and give him all the variations you can."
So they went through with it, yet there was not the first sign of the grizzly.
"That's queer," remarked Tom, when after they had completed their duet, not a single thing occurred; only the gaping mouth of the den mocked them, with vacancy behind it.
"Don't fancy the tune, perhaps?" suggested Felix, humorously.
"That might be so. The old fellow might have his favorites. Can you give him a change, Felix, something more solemn like. He must have a weak spot, if only we could hit on it. Strike up 'Plunged in a Gulf of Deep Despair,' or something that thrills you the same way."
Accordingly, as he liked to be obliging, and the situation appealed to his fine sense of humor, Felix did start a song that sounded very much like the "Dead March of Saul." Tom added all the touches possible; and had anybody chanced to be in the vicinity he must have thought he had struck a camp meeting.
"How's that?" asked Felix, when they had finished.
"Simply elegant, take it from me. Queer that we haven't thought to sing a little while we sat around the blazing fire nights," declared Tom.
"Well, if we did much of that sort of thing, we'd soon go hungry, Tom."
"Think so?" chuckled the other.