The exhilaration of the water-front, his delight over the story he was to make out of the old mate's yarn, Chinatown, the charming unconventionality of their lunch in the Chinese restaurant, the sparkling serenity of the afternoon, and the joy of discovering Travis' appreciation of his adored and venerated author, had put him into a mood bordering close upon hilarity.
"The next event upon our interesting programme," he announced, "will be a banjosephine obligato in A-sia minor, by that justly renowned impresario, Signor Conde Tin-pani Rivers, specially engaged for this performance; with a pleasing and pan-hellenic song-and-dance turn by Miss Travis Bessemer, the infant phenomenon, otherwise known as 'Babby Bessie.'" "You're not going to play that banjo here ?" said Travis, as he stripped away the canvas covering.
"Order in the gallery!" cried Condy, beginning to tune up.

Then in a rapid, professional monotone: "Ladies-and-gentlemen - with - your - kind - permission - I - will - endeavor - to - give - you - an - imitation - of - a - Carolina - coon - song"-- and without more ado, singing the words to a rattling, catchy accompaniment, swung off into-- "F--or MY gal's a high-born leddy, SHE'S brack, but not too shady." He did not sing loud, and the clack and snarl of the banjo carried hardly further than the adjoining room; but there was no one to hear, and, as he went along, even Travis began to hum the words, but at that, Condy stopped abruptly, laid the instrument across his knees with exaggerated solicitude, and said deliberately: "Travis, you are a good, sweet girl, and what you lack in beauty you make up in amiability, and I've no doubt you are kind to your aged father; but you--can--not--sing." Travis was cross in a moment, all the more so because Condy had spoken the exact truth.

It was quite impossible for her to carry a tune half a dozen bars without entangling herself in as many different keys.
What voice she had was not absolutely bad; but as she persisted in singing in spite of Condy's guying, he put back his head and began a mournful and lugubrious howling.
"Ho!" she exclaimed, grabbing the banjo from his knees, "if I can't sing, I can play better than some smart people." "Yes, by note," rallied Condy, as Travis executed a banjo "piece" of no little intricacy.

"That's just like a machine--like a hand-piano.
"Order in the gallery!" she retorted, without pausing in her playing.
She finished with a great flourish and gazed at him in triumph, only to find him pretending a profound slumber.

"O--o--o!" she remarked between her teeth, "I just hate you, Condy Rivers." "There are others," he returned airily.
"Talk about slang." "NOW what will we do ?" he cried.