You puzzle all your mind and brains, you take a deuced lot of pains,
You ponder and consider, and you think
It's a foolish, silly waste of time, take this advice, dear boys of mine,
For all you've got to do is—give a wink.
Give a wink, boys—
The long line that reaches to the pit doors finds itself forced to hum the enticing chorus, either in shrill soprano or growling bass, and one young lady by herself, with a pince-nez and opera glasses, screws up her lips to whistle it.
The guitar girl gives a second song—a sentimental one this time, with good-byes forever and weeping sweethearts and departing emigrants, and a waltz refrain, and nearly everybody dead and done for in the last verse. Then the guitar girl brings a scarlet plush bag that suggests the offertory, and going down the line, gleans as much as eightpence-halfpenny.
A stout man in a tweed cap and loose tweed suit, that cries aloud at elbows and knees for the darning-needle; he has a Windsor chair with him, and a slip of carpet, and these he places on the ground with much care and particularity. Throws then his tweed cap on the ground, slips his jacket off, thumps himself on his broad chest, and bows to his audience.
"Lydies and Gentlemen: I perpose this evenin' to clime your kind indulgence whilst I submit to your
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