Cobweb thin, the accompaniment took up the plaintive chirping till the Maestro sang the second verse.
"I say," said Ken, bolt upright in his chair. "I say!"
"Are you angry?" asked the Maestro. He flung out his hands in a pleading gesture. "Will he forgive me, Kirk?"
"Why, why—it's beautiful, sir!" Ken stammered. "It's only—that I don't see how you ever got hold of those words. It was just a thing I made up to amuse Kirk. He made me say it to him over and over, about fifty-nine times, I should say, till I'm sure I was perfectly sick of it."
"Having heard it fifty-nine times," said the old gentleman, "he was able to repeat it to me, and I took the opportunity to write it off on a bit of paper, because, my dear boy, I liked it."
"A lovely, scrumptious tune," said Kirk. "It makes it nicer than ever."
"What do you say," said the Maestro, "to our giving this unsurpassed song to the world at large?"
"Do you mean having it printed?" Felicia asked quickly. "Oh, what fun!"
