"That's understood," said Toby. "Now then, strike up."
Mr. Punch cleared his throat very loud, and coughed once or twice, and began to sing:
"Kathleen Mavourneen, the gr'y dorn is bryking,
The 'orn of the 'unter is 'eard on the 'ill."
"Ha! ha! ha! ha!" roared Toby. "The 'orn of the 'unter! Blamed if I ever hear the like of that before! My stars! What's the matter, Mr. Punch, can't you put in a little 'h' now and then? The 'orn of the 'unter! Oh my stars! Ha! ha! ha! ha!"
Mr. Punch was deeply offended. "Hit is quite sufficient," said he. "Hi shall sing no more." And nothing that anybody could say could induce him to go on.
"Toby Littleback," said Aunt Amanda, "it's just like you, all over. Now you ask Mr. Punch's pardon, right this minute."
Toby apologized, and Mr. Punch said that it was of no consequence whatever; but he would not sing.
"Then I guess you'll have to sing for us yourself, Mizzen," said Toby.
"Right-o," said Mr. Mizzen, thrumming on his guitar. "What'll it be?"