If he would only not pull such faces, or make so sure that folk within a dozen blocks can hear him, he might pass for a professional.
"Music suggestive of moonlight!" he said, and began: "The sentry palms stand motionless.

Masts move against the sky.
With measured creak of curving spars dhows gently to the jeweled stars Rock out a lullaby.
"Silver and black sleeps Zanzibar.

The moonlit ripples croon Soft songs of loves that perfect are, long tales of red-lipped spoils of war, And you--you smile, you moon! For I think that beam on the placid sea That splashes, and spreads, and dips, and gleams, That dances and glides till it comes to me Out of infinite sky, is the path of dreams, And down that lane the memories run Of all that's wild beneath the sun!" "You fellows like that one?
Anybody coming?
Nobody for Will to fight yet?
Too bad! Well--we'll try a-gain! There's no chorus.

It's all poetic stuff, too gentle to be yowled by three such cannibals as you! Listen! "Old as the moonlit silences, to-night's loves are the same As when for ivory from far, and cloves and gems of Zanzibar King Solomon's men came.
"Sinful and still the same roofs lie that knew da Gama's heel, Those beams that light these sleepy waves looked on when men threw murdered slaves To make the sharks a meal.
And I think that beam on the silvered swell That spreads, and splashes, and gleams, and dips, That has shone on the cruel and brave as well, On the trail o' the slaves and the ivory ships, Is the lane down which the memories run Of all that's wild beneath the sun." The concertina wailed into a sort of minor dirge and ceased.

Fred fastened the catch, and put the instrument away.
"Why don't you applaud ?" he asked.
"Oh, bravo, bravo!" said Will and I together.
Monty looked hard at both of us.
"Strange!" he remarked.