Feelan cleared
his throat and commenced the song, his voice strong and clear filled
the barn:--
"Arrah! tell me Shan O'Farrel; tell me why you hurry so?"
"Hush, my bouchal, hush and listen," and his cheeks were all aglow--
"I've got orders from the Captain to get ready quick and soon
For the pikes must be together at the risin' of the moon,
At the risin' of the moon!
At the risin' of the moon!
And the pikes must be together at the risin' of the moon!"
"That's some song," said the corporal. "It has got guts in it. I'm
sick of these ragtime rotters!"
"The old songs are always the best ones," said Feelan, clearing his
throat preparatory to commencing a second verse.
"What about _Uncle Joe_?" asked Goliath, and was off with a regimental
favourite.
When Uncle Joe plays a rag upon his old banjo--
("Oh!" the occupants of the barn yelled.)
Ev'rybody starts a swayin' to and fro--
("Ha!" exclaimed the barn.)
Mummy waddles all around the cabin floor!--
("What!" we chorused.)
Crying, "Uncle Joe, give us more, give us more!"
"Give us no more of that muck!" exclaimed Feelan, burrowing into (p. 047)
the straw, no doubt a little annoyed at being interrupted in his song.
"Damn ragtime!"
"There's ginger in it!" said Goliath. "Your old song is as flat as
French beer!"
"Some decent music is what you want," said Bill Sykes, and forthwith
began strumming an invisible banjo and humming _Way down upon the
Swanee Ribber_.
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