my vanity, I'm afraid. You said I was for the many, Mr. Macklyn. This seems to indicate I'm for the few, after all, like you and Albert Jones."
The sombre Macklyn took him literally. "I shouldn't mind, if I were you. At least you can say you never sought the bauble reputation in the Provincial's mouth—or, happily, that you never obtained it. Naturally, this sort of thing would not be entertained by 'The Pastoral Scene!'"
By an interesting coincidence he learned within a few moments that he was mistaken. The song behind him drew to a rather hoarse conclusion; a steward brought a tray of copious fresh supplies, prepared at the bar; then the talkative Tinker began a fresh discourse, this time inspired by the recent effort to be musical.
"Yes, sir; that's a mighty good song; I like 'Aunt Mariar' better, though—more homelike. I heard some nice music in New York. Got there three days before we sailed and went to shows every night. Two nights it was to musical shows; they had a lot of good music in 'em, cheerful you know, not sad stuff nobody can understand like that Italian orchestra was playin' down there in the lobby awhile ago—and more good-lookin' girls than you ever saw in
