"I say, you fellows," said Grim, "it's to be a concert, you know, and
except for Fruity's epilogue there isn't any music down yet." Cherry
groaned to think he'd been let in for a song.
"What about Thurston?" asked half a dozen of the fags.
"Right, oh! Now, 'Dicky Bird,' hop up to the front, and trot out your
list."
Thurston wasn't shy, and rather fancied his bleat, so he said, "Oh! I
don't mind at all."
"We thought you wouldn't," said the chairman, winking.
"What do you say to 'Alice, where art thou'?"
"We don't fancy your shouting five minutes for her at all. Next, please."
"'Only to see her face again,' then?"
"Whose?" said Sharpe, irreverently.
"Why, the girl's the fellow is singing about," said Thurston, hotly.
"Oh! you'll see her the day after to-morrow, Dicky Bird, so don't you fret
about that now. Do you know 'My first cigar'?"
"Do you mean the one that sent you to hospital, Grimmy?"
"No I don't. None of your cheek. I'm chairman. I mean the one Corney Grain
used to sing."
"Yes."
"Well, you sing that and you'll make the fellows die with laughing. And
mind you illustrate it with plenty of life-like pantomime, do you hear?"
"Carried, _nem. con_.," shouted all the fags with enthusiasm.
"Hear, hear, Grimmy!"
"So that's settled for you, and if you get an encore, Dicky Bird, you can
trot 'Alice' out if you like."
"Which of the fellows have we to invite out of the eleven to help us?"
"Acton," was the universal yell.
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