Per'aps you call this brag and bl.u.s.ter; No, 'taint nuther, for we muster The best of brain, the mighty dollar; We'll lead on, let others foller.

CHORUS:

Professor Strout sang the solo part of the song himself. The singing society and many of the audience joined in the chorus. Like many teachers of vocal music, the Professor had very little voice himself, but he knew how to make the best possible use of what he did possess.

But the patriotic sentiment of the words, the eccentric make-up of the singer his comical contortions and odd grimaces, and what was really a bright, tuneful melody won a marked success for both song and singer.

Encore followed encore. Like many more cultured audiences in large cities the one a.s.sembled in Eastborough Town Hall seemed to think that there was no limit to a free concert and that they were ent.i.tled to all they could get. But the Professor himself fixed the limit. When the song had been sung through three times he ran up the centre aisle of the platform and facing the audience, he directed the chorus, holding the variegated baton in one hand and swinging his woolly plug hat around his head with the other. At the close, amid screams, cheers, and clapping of hands, he turned upon his heel, dashed through the door and disappeared from sight.

The next number upon the programme was a piano solo by Miss Tilly James.

Nothing could have pleased her audience any better than the well-known strains of the ever popular "Maiden's Prayer." In response to an encore which Quincy originated, and dexterously led, Miss James played the overture to Rossini's "William Tell" without notes. A fact which was perceived by the few, but unnoticed by the many.

At the close of these instrumental selections, the Professor reappeared in evening costume and again a.s.sumed the directorship of the concert.

Robert Wood had a ponderous ba.s.s voice, which if not highly cultivated was highly effective, and he sang "Simon the Cellarer" to great acceptation. Next followed a number of selections sung without accompaniment by a male quartette composed of Cobb's twins, who were both tenors, Benjamin Bates, and Robert Wood. This feature was loudly applauded and one old farmer remarked to his neighbor, who was evidently deaf, in a loud voice that was heard all over the hall, "That's the kind of music that fetches me," which declaration was a signal for another encore.

The singing society then sang a barcarolle, the words of the first line being, "Of the sea, our yacht is the pride." It went over the heads of most of the audience, but was greatly appreciated fey the limited few who were acquainted with the difficulties of accidentals, syncopations, and inverted musical phrases.

According to the programme the next feature was to be a duet ent.i.tled "Over the Bridge," composed by Jewell and sung by Arthur Scates and Miss Lindy Putnam. The Professor stepped forward and waved his hand to quiet the somewhat noisy a.s.semblage.

"The next number will have to be omitted," he said, "because Mr. Scates is home sick abed. The doctor says he's got a bad case of quinsy," with a marked emphasis on the last word, which, however, failed to make a point. "In response to requests, one verse of 'Hark! and Hear the Eagle Scream' will be sung to take the place of the piece that's left out."

While the Professor was addressing the audience, Quincy had whispered something in Deacon Mason's ear which caused the latter to smile and nod his head approvingly. Quincy arose and reached the Professor's side just as the latter finished speaking and turned towards the chorus. Quincy said something in a low tone to the Professor which caused Mr. Strout to shake his head in the negative in a most p.r.o.nounced manner. Quincy spoke again and looked towards Miss Putnam, who was seated in the front row, and whose face wore a somewhat disappointed look.

Again the Professor shook his head by way of negation and the words, "It can't be did," were distinctly audible to the majority of both singing society and audience, at the same time a look of contempt spread over the singing-master's face. Quincy perceived it and was nettled by it. He was not daunted, however, nor to be shaken from his purpose, so he said in a loud voice, which was heard in all parts of the hall: "I know the song, and will sing it if Miss Putnam and the audience are willing."

With a smile upon her face, Miss Putnam nodded her acquiescence. All the townspeople had heard of Quincy's liberality in providing a hot supper for the sleighing party the night before, and cries of "Go ahead! Give him a chance! We want to hear him!" and "Don't disappoint Miss Putnam,"

were heard from all parts of the hall. The Professor was obliged to give in. He sat down with a disgusted look upon his face, and from that moment war to the knife was declared between these champions of city and country civilization.

Mr. Sawyer went to the piano, opened Miss James's copy of the music and placed it upon the music rack before her, saying a few words to her which caused her to smile. Quincy then approached Lindy, opened her music at the proper place and pa.s.sed it to her. Next he took her hand and led her to the front of the platform. These little acts of courtesy and politeness, performed in an easy, graceful, and self-possessed manner, were seen by all and won a round of applause.

The duet was beautifully sung. Quincy had a fine well-trained tenor voice, while Miss Putnam's mezzo-soprano was full and melodious and her rendition fully as artistic as that of her companion. One, two, three, four, five, six encores followed each other in quick succession, in spite of Professor Strout's endeavors to quell the applause and take up the next number. The ovation given earlier in the evening to Professor Strout was weak in comparison with that vouchsafed to Quincy and Lindy when they took their seats. In vain did the Professor strive to make himself heard. Audience and chorus seemed to be of one mind. The Professor, his face as red as a beet, turned to Ezekiel Pettengill and said:

"That was a mighty impudent piece of business, don't you think so?"

"They're both mighty fine singers," Ezekiel responded in a rather unsympathetic tone.

Quincy realized that something must be done to satisfy the demands of the now thoroughly excited audience. Going to Miss James, he asked her a question in a low voice, in reply to which she nodded affirmatively. He next sought Miss Putnam and evidently asked her the same question, receiving a similar answer. Then he led her forward, and she sang the opening part of "Listen to the Mocking Bird." After they had sung the chorus it was repeated on the piano and Quincy electrified the audience by whistling it, introducing all the trills, staccatos, and roulades that he had heard so many times come from under Billy Morris's big mustache at the little Opera House on Washington Street, opposite Milk, run by the Morris Brothers, Johnny Pell, and Mr. Trowbridge, and when he finished there flashed through his mind a pleasant memory of Dr. Ordway and his Aeolians. An encore was responded to, but the tumult still continued. Turning to Ezekiel, Strout said:

"Ain't it a cussed shame to spoil a first-cla.s.s concert this way?"

"He's a mighty fine whistler," replied Ezekiel in the same tone that he had used before.

Finally to quiet their exuberance Quincy was obliged to say a few words, which were evidently what the audience was waiting for.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "the hour is getting late and there is another number on the programme. Miss Putnam is tired and I shall have to wet my whistle before I can use it again. I thank you for your kind indulgence and applause."

This little speech pleased the audience. It was down to their level, with "no sign of stuckupativeness about it," as one country girl remarked to her chum. Quincy bowed, the audience laughed, and quiet was restored.

The Professor had fidgeted, fumed, and fussed during Quincy's occupancy of the platform. He now arose with feelings impossible to express and took up his baton to lead the closing chorus. He brought it down with such a whack upon the music stand that it careened, tottered, and fell to the platform with a crash. Tilly James leaned over and whispered to Huldy Mason: "The Professor seems to have a bad attack of Quincy, too."

And the two girls smothered their laughs in their handkerchiefs. If the singing society had not been so well acquainted with the closing chorus the Professor certainly would have thrown them out by his many mistakes in beating time. The piece was a "sleighride" song. The Professor forgot to give the signal for the ringing of the sleigh bells, but the members of the singing society did not, and their introduction, which was unexpected by the audience, to use a theatrical term, "brought down the house." The number was well rendered, despite the manifest defects in leadership. The concert came to a close.

Deacon Mason and his wife, accompanied by their daughter, Huldy, and Rev. Mr. Howe, occupied a double sleigh, as did Hiram, Mandy, and Cobb's twins. Another double-seated conveyance contained Mr. and Mrs. Benoni Hill, their son, Samuel, and Miss Tilly James. Quincy also had accommodations for four in his sleigh, but its only occupants were Miss Putnam and himself. Abner Stiles sat on the front seat of another double-seated sleigh, while the Professor and Ezekiel were on the back one; the remainder of the Mason's Corner folks occupied the big barge which had been used for the sleigh ride the night before.

The barge led the procession to Mason's Corner, followed by the vehicles previously mentioned and scores of others containing residents of Mason's Corner, whose names and faces are alike unknown. By a strange fatality, the sleigh containing the Professor and Ezekiel was the last in the line. Ezekiel was inwardly elated that Mr. Sawyer had gone home with Lindy instead of with Deacon Mason's party. Strout's bosom held no feelings of elation. He did not seem to care whether the concert was considered a success or not. He had but one thought in his mind, and that was the "daring impudence of that city feller." Turning to Ezekiel, he said:

"I'll get even with that city chap the next time I meet him. As I said last night, Pettengill, this town ain't big enough to 'hold both on us and one on us has got to git."

As he said this, he leaned back in the sleigh and puffed his cigar savagely while Ezekiel was wondering if Huldy was thinking half as much about him as he was about her.

CHAPTER IV.

ANCESTRY VERSUS PATRIOTISM.

Four days had pa.s.sed since the concert in the Town Hall at Eastborough.

The events of that evening had been freely discussed in barn and workshop, at table and at the various stores in Eastborough and surrounding towns, for quite a number had been present who were not residents of the town. All interest in it had not, however, pa.s.sed away as subsequent occurrences proved.

It was the morning of the fifth of January. Benoni Hill, who ran the only grocery store at Mason's Corner, was behind his counter and with the aid of his only son, Samuel, was attending to the wants of several customers.

While thus engaged, Miss Tilly James entered, and young Samuel Hill forgot to ask the customer on whom he had been waiting the usual question, "Anything else, ma'am?" so anxious was he to speak to and wait upon the pretty Miss James, whose bright eyes, dark curly hair, and witty remarks had attracted to her side more suitors than had fallen to the lot of any other young girl in the village. As yet she had evinced no especial liking for any particular one of the young men who flocked about her, and this fact had only served to increase their admiration for her and to spur them on to renewed efforts to win her favor.

"Do you know, Miss James," said Samuel, "I can't get it out of my ears yet." As he said this, he leaned over the counter, and being a brave young man, looked straight into Miss James's smiling face.

"If all home remedies have failed," said Tilly, "why don't you go to Boston and have a doctor examine them?"

"What a joker you are!" remarked Samuel; "I believe you will crack a joke on the minister the day you are married."

"It may be my last chance," rejoined Tilly. "Mother says the inside of a boiled onion put into the ear is good for some troubles; give me a pound of tea, Oolong and green mixed, same as we always have."

As Samuel pa.s.sed the neatly done up package to Miss James, he leaned across the counter again and said in a low voice, "You know what is in my ears, Miss James. How beautifully you played for Mr. Sawyer when he whistled 'Listen to the Mocking Bird.' I don't think I shall ever forget it."

"Well, I don't know about the playing, Mr. Hill. I came near losing my place several times, because I wanted so much to hear him whistle."

During this conversation Tilly and Samuel had been so preoccupied that they had not noticed the entrance of a new-comer and his approach towards them. Only one other customer, a little girl, was left in the store, and Mr. Hill, Sr., had gone down cellar to draw her a quart of mola.s.ses.

As Tilly uttered the words, "I wanted so much to hear him whistle," she heard behind her in clear, melodious, flute-like notes, the opening measures of "Listen to the Mocking Bird." Turning quickly, she saw Mr.

Sawyer standing beside her.

"Why, how do you do, Mr. Sawyer? I am delighted to see you again," she said in that hearty, whole-souled way that was so captivating to her country admirers.

"The delight is mutual," replied Quincy, raising his hat and bowing.

Samuel Hill was evidently somewhat disturbed by the great friendliness of the greetings that he had just witnessed. This fact did not escape Tilly's quick eye, and turning to Mr. Sawyer she said:

"Have you been introduced to my friend, Mr. Samuel Hill?"

"I have not had that pleasure," replied Quincy. "This is my first visit to the store."