The Cock-House at Fellsgarth | Page 7

room, where sat the grandees in a row round the table on which the sacrifice was to take place.
For the benefit of the curious it may be explained that "lamb's singing," the name applied to the musical performances of new boys at Fellsgarth on first-night, is supposed to have derived its title from the frequency with which these young gentlemen fell back upon "Mary had a little lamb" as their theme on such occasions.
"Isn't one of them your minor?" asked Yorke of Fisher senior.
"Yes," said the latter rather apologetically; "the one with the light hair. He's not much to look at. The fact is, I only know him slightly. They say at home he's a nice boy."
"Does he spend much of his time under tables, as a rule?" asked Ranger, recognising the lost property which had hung on to his legs at dinner- time. "If so, I'll take the other one for my fag."
"He's bagged already," said Denton. "Fisher and I put our names down for him an hour ago."
"Well, that's cool. If Fisher wanted a fag he might as well have taken his own minor."
"Fisher major knew better," said the gentleman in question. "It might raise awkward family questions if I had him."
"Wouldn't it be fairer to toss up?" suggested the captain. "Or I don't mind swopping Wally Wheatfield for him; if you really--"
Ranger laughed.
"No, thank you, I draw the line at Wally. I wouldn't deprive you of him for the world. I suppose I must have this youngster. Let's hear him sing first."
"Yes, lamb's singing. Now, you two, one at a time. Who's first? Alphabetical order."
Ashby, with an inward groan, mounted the rostrum. If anything could have been more cruel than the noise which greeted his appearance, it was the dead silence which followed it. Fellows sat round, staring him out of countenance with critical faces, and rejoicing in his embarrassment.
"What's the title!" demanded some one.
"I don't know any songs," said Ashby presently, "and I can't sing."
"Ho, ho! we've heard that before. Come, forge ahead."
"I only know the words of one that my con--somebody I know--sings, called the Vigil. I don't know the tune."
"That doesn't matter--out with it."
So Ashby, pulling himself desperately together, plunged recklessly into the following appropriate ditty; which, failing its proper tune, he manfully set at the top of his voice, and with all the energy he was capable of, to the air of the Vicar of Bray--
The stealthy night creeps o'er the lea, My darling, haste away with me. Beloved, come I see where I stand, With arms outstretched upon the strand.
The night creeps on; my love is late, O love, my love, I wait, I wait; The soft wind sighs mid crag and pine; Haste, O my sweet; be mine, be mine!
This spirited song, the last two lines of which were aught up as a chorus, fairly brought down the house; and Ashby, much to his surprise, found himself famous. He had no idea he could sing so well, or that the fellows would like the words as much as they seemed to do. Yet they cheered him and encored him, and yelled the chorus till the roof almost fell in.
"Bravo," shouted every one, the captain himself included, as he descended from the table; "that's a ripping song."
"That sends up the price of our fag, I fancy," said Denton to his chum. "Your young brother won't beat that."
"Next man in," shouted Wheatfield, hustling forward Fisher minor. "Now, kid, lamm it on and show them what you can do."
"Title! title!" cried the meeting.
Now, if truth must be told, Fisher minor had come to Fellsgarth determined that whatever else he failed in, he would make a hit at "lamb's singing." He had made a careful calculation as to what sort of song would go down with the company and at the same time redeem his reputation from all suspicion of greenness; and he flattered himself he had hit upon the exact article.
"Oh," said he, with an attempt at offhand swagger, in response to the demand. "It's a comic song, called Oh no."
It disconcerted him a little to see how seriously everybody settled down to listen, and how red his brother's face turned as he took a back seat among the seniors. Never mind. Wait till they heard his song. That would fetch them!
He had carefully studied not only the song but the appropriate action. As he knew perfectly well, there is one invariable attitude for a comic song. The head must be tilted a little to one side. One eyebrow must be raised and the opposite corner of the mouth turned down. One knee should be slightly bent; the first finger and thumb of one hand should rest gracefully in the waistcoat pocket, and the other hand should be free for gesture.
All these points Fisher