tickled her so. "Dure toute la vie—i—i—ie—i—e," she sang the concluding words at him, laughing in his face.
"You're back early," she said.
"Felt a mental twilight coming on," he said, "so thought we'd better close down for the night."
Harriet divined that, to use her expression, Somers had been "disagreeable to him."
"Don't you sing?" she cried.
"Me! Have you ever heard a cow at a gate when she wants to come in and be milked?"
"Oh, he does!" cried Victoria. "He sang a duet at the Harbour Lights Concert."
"There!" cried Harriet. "How exciting! What duet did he sing?"
"Larboard Watch Ahoy!"
"Oh! Oh! I know that," cried Harriet, remembering a farmer friend of Somers', who had initiated her into the thrilling harmony, down in Cornwall.
"There wasn't a soul left in the hall, when we'd finished, except Victoria and the other chap's wife," said Jack.
"Oh, what a fib. They applauded like anything, and made you give an encore."
"Ay, and we didn't know another bally duet between us, so we had to sing Larboard Watch over again. It was Larboard Alarum Clock by the time we got to the end of it, it went off with such a rattle."
"Oh, do let us sing it," said Harriet. "You must help me when I go wrong, because I don't know it well."
"What part do you want to sing?" said Jack.
"Oh, I sing the first part."
"Nay," said Jack. "I sing that part myself. I'm a high tenor, I am, once I get the wind up."
"I couldn't possibly sing the alto," said Harriet.
"Oh, Jack, do sing the alto," said Victoria. "Go on, do! I'll help you."
"Oh well, if you'll go bail for me, I don't care what I do," said Jack.
And very shortly Somers heard a gorgeous uproar in Wyewurk. Harriet breaking down occasionally, and being picked up. She insisted on keeping on till she had it perfect, and the other two banged and warbled away with
