“Very good, very good!” cried the student, with a rousing slap on his shoulder; for a vague feeling came over the young man that one of the Herr’s puns was lurking somewhere in the mist.
But the most striking figure in tableau No. 2 was that of my grandfather. As soon as Uncle Dick’s applauding grunt had broken the spell that held the company, and while all were cheering lustily, he rushed up to the Don, and placed his hands in an impressive way on his shoulders. The cheering suddenly ceased, and all listened intently save the Herr and his student, who, having found fresh tumblers, were busy scooping up the last of the punch.
“My friend,” said my grandfather, “Charley and I are but two in this big house,”—and there was a simple pathos in his manner and tones.—“Won’t you live with us—for good?”
Tremendous applause greeted this rather thorough-going invitation; and tableau No. 2 dissolved in confusion; in the midst of which stood the Don, bowing and laughing, and wisely holding high above his head the precious violin.
“Ah, dere spoke de Barrone!” quoth the Herr, balancing himself, and clinking half-filled glasses with his student.
“Good for Uncle Tom!” echoed the latter.
“So!” chimed in the Herr, blinking at the ceiling through the bottom of his tumbler.
“I am in downright earnest, I assure you,” urged Mr. Whacker, on remarking the pleased merriment of the Don. “Eh, Charley?”
“So say we all of us!” said Charley, with jovial earnestness, and shaking, with great cordiality, the stranger’s right hand, whence I had removed the bow.
Uncle Dick now came to the fore again. Uncle Richard was a humorist, and, with all the tact of his race, knew perfectly well, how, while preserving a severe decorum of form, to make his little hit. So now, turning to Aunt Polly, with a look on his face of childlike simplicity, beneath which lurked a studied unconsciousness, he asked, in the most artless stage-whisper,—