Great cheering followed the skilfully executed jodel.  In the midst of it, one of the members rose and said, in German,

“Meine Herren!  You know our good friend Nageli is going to leave us; perhaps we shall not see him again for many years.  I challenge you to drink this toast:  ‘Nageli, and his quick return!’ I say to him what some of the shopkeepers in our Father-land say to their customers, ’Kommen Sie bald wieder!’”

Here there was a great shouting of “Nageli!  Nageli!” until one started the chorus, which was immediately and sonorously sung by the whole assemblage,

“Hoch soll er leben! 
Hoch soll er leben! 
Dreimal hoch!”

Another pause, chiefly devoted to the ordering of Hochheimer and the lighting of fresh cigars.  The souls of the sons of the Father-land were beginning to warm.

“Friend Beratinsky,” said the anxious-hearted albino, “perhaps you know that many years ago I knew the mother of Natalie Lind; she was a neighbor—­a companion—­of mine:  and I am interested in the little one.  A young girl sometimes has need of friends.  Now, you are in a position—­”

“Friend Calabressa, you may save your breath,” said the other, coldly.  “The young lady might have had my friendship if she had chosen.  She did not choose.  I suppose she is old enough—­and proud enough—­to choose her own friends.  Yes, yes, friend Calabressa, I have heard.  But we will say nothing more:  now listen to this comical fellow.”

Calabressa was not thinking of the young Englishman who now sat down at the piano; a strange suspicion was beginning to fill his mind.  Was it possible, he began inwardly to ask, that Vincent Beratinsky had himself aspired to marry the beautiful Hungarian girl?

This good-looking young English fellow, with a gravity equal to that of the sham showman, explained to his audience that he was composing an operetta, of which he would give them a few passages.  He was a skilful pianist.  He explained, as his fingers ran up and down the keys, that the scene was in Ratcliffe Highway.  A tavern:  a hornpipe.  Jack ashore.  Unseemly squabbles:  here there were harsh discords and shrill screams.  Drunkenness:  the music getting very helpless.  Then the daylight comes—­the chirping of sparrows—­Jack wanders out—­the breath of the morning stirs his memories—­he thinks of other days.  Then comes in Jack’s song, which neither Calabressa nor any one else present could say was meant to be comic, or pathetic, or a demoniac mixture of both.  The accompaniment which the handsome young English fellow played was at once rhythmical, and low and sad, like the wash of waves: 

    “Oh, the days were long,
       And the summers were long,
     When Jane and I went courtin’;
       The hills were blue beyond the sky;
       The heather was soft where we did lie;
       We kissed our fill, did Jane and I,
     When Jane and I went courtin’.