Fred. Certainly. Let me see. "Rock me to sleep, mother." No, that isn't it.
White. (Aside.) He's split on that rock.
Fred. Hem! ah! "Dear father, dear father, come home." O, bother!
Gray. (Aside.) It'll bother him to "come home" with that line.
Fred. "Give me a cot."—O, pshaw! I tell you what, boys, I didn't come here to talk, but to listen: now you two sing away at once, or down comes the ratten.
Gray. (Aside.) I say, Ned, Brown doesn't know it? here's fun. Now you just keep quiet, and ring in your line when I snap my fingers.
White. (Aside.) All right. I understand. When you snap, I sing.
Fred. Come, come! Strike up, or I shall strike down.
Gray. (Sings to the tune of the Battle-cry of Freedom,)—