On Mount Sinai, it was thunder; in the cabman's heart it was misery; in the soul of St.
John it was perfect blessedness.
By and by he became aware that there was a voice of singing in the room.
This, of course, was the voice of Diamond singing to the baby--song after song, every one as foolish as another to the cabman, for he was too tipsy to part one word from another: all the words mixed up in his ear in a gurgle without division or stop; for such was the way he spoke himself, when he was in this horrid condition.

But the baby was more than content with Diamond's songs, and Diamond himself was so contented with what the songs were all about, that he did not care a bit about the songs themselves, if only baby liked them.

But they did the cabman good as well as the baby and Diamond, for they put him to sleep, and the sleep was busy all the time it lasted, smoothing the wrinkles out of his temper.
At length Diamond grew tired of singing, and began to talk to the baby instead.

And as soon as he stopped singing, the cabman began to wake up.
His brain was a little clearer now, his temper a little smoother, and his heart not quite so dirty.

He began to listen and he went on listening, and heard Diamond saying to the baby something like this, for he thought the cabman was asleep: "Poor daddy! Baby's daddy takes too much beer and gin, and that makes him somebody else, and not his own self at all.