"Like what?—sweat on a man's forehead?"
"Like the playing. Don't be ridiculous."
"It is not I," said Lois, who meanwhile had risenn and was getting dressed. Madge was doing the same, talking all the while. "So the playing was something to be seen. What was the singing?"
Madge stood still, comb in hand. "I don't know!" she said gravely. Lois could not help laughing.
"Well, I don't," Madge went on. "It was so queer, some of it, I did not know which way to look. Some of it was regular yelling, Lois; and if people are going to yell, I'd rather have it out-of-doors. But one man—I think he thought he was doing it remarkably well—the goings up and down of his voice—"
"Cadences—"
"Well, the cadences if you choose; they made me think of nothing but the tones of the lions and other beasts in the menagerie. Don't you know how they roar up and down? first softly and then loud? I had everything in the world to do not to laugh out downright. He was singing something meant to be very pathetic; and it was absolutely killing."
"It was not all like that, I suppose?"
"No. There was some I liked. But nothing one-half so good as your singing a hymn, Lois. I wish you could have been there to give them one. Only you could not sing a hymn in such a place."
"Why not?"