Joe, when they left the stage, ceased his meditations, whatever may
have been their subject, lit a fresh cigarette, and assumed an air of
great expectation, as if something really worth seeing and hearing
were now about to appear. And when the chairman brought down the
hammer with the announcement that Miss Carlotta Claradine, the
People's Favorite, would now oblige, it was Joe who loudly led the way
for a tumultuous burst of applause. Then the band, which at this
establishment, and others like unto it, only plays two tunes, one for
acrobats, and one for singers, struck up the second air, and the
People's Favorite appeared. She may have had by nature a sweet and
tuneful voice; perhaps it was in order to please her friends, the
people, that, she converted it into a harsh and rasping voice, that
she delivered her words with even too much gesture, and that she
uttered a kind of shriek at the beginning of every verse, which was
not in the composer's original music, but was thrown in to compel
attention. She was dressed with great simplicity, in plain frock,
apron, and white cap, to represent a fair young Quakeress, and she
sung a song about her lover with much "archness"--a delightful quality
in woman.

"Splendid, splendid! Bravo!" shouted Joseph at the end of the first
verse. "That fetches 'em, don't it, sir? Positively drags 'em, in,
sir."

He addressed his words, without turning his head, to a man who had
just come in, and was gazing at him with unbounded astonishment.

"You here, Joe??" he said.

Joe started.