Here was evidently to be a test example, and I was all alert to mark
its minutest detail.
The clamor had subsided, and Tommy had drawn a chair near to and
directly fronting the Major's. His right hand was extended, closely
grasping the right hand of his friend which he scarce perceptibly,
though measuredly, lifted and let fall throughout the length of all
the curious performance. The voice was not unmusical, nor was the
quaint old ballad-air adopted by the singer unlovely in the least;
simply a monotony was evident that accorded with the levity and
chance-finish of the improvisation--and that the song was improvised
on the instant I am certain--though in no wise remarkable, for other
reasons, in rhythmic worth or finish. And while his smiling auditors
all drew nearer, and leant, with parted lips to catch every syllable,
the words of the strange melody trailed unhesitatingly into the lines
literally as here subjoined:
"One gloomy day in the airly Fall,
Whin the sunshine had no chance at all--
No chance at all for to gleam and shine
And lighten up this heart of mine:
"'Twas in South Bend, that famous town,
Whilst I were a-strollin' round and round,
I met some friends and they says to me:
'It's a hunt we'll take on the Kankakee!'"
"Hurra for the Kankakee! Give it to us, Tommy!" cried an enthused
voice between verses.
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