He sang without further preliminary, substituting a blank phrasing for uncomprehended words; but the melody swept without faltering to its conclusion. Janin answered irritably, disturbed by his rude awakening:
"The Serenade from Don Giovanni—Mozart. Well, what about it?"
"It's wonderful!" Harry Baggs declared. "Are there any more as great?"
"It is good," Janin agreed, his interest stirred; "but there are better—the Dio Possente, the Brindisi from Hamlet. Once I led the finale of Hamlet. I saw the Director"
"I'll get every one," the boy interrupted.
"There are others now, newer—finer still, I'm told; but I don't know." Janin rose and steadied himself against the fence. "Give me a start. I've been getting confused lately; I don't seem to keep a direction like I could. From Don Giovanni: 'Deh vieni alla finestra'—'Come to the window''s about it. I'm glad you're not a tenor; they're delicate and mean. But you are a fine boy, Harry; you'll take the old man up along with you!"
He talked in a rapid faint voice, like his breathing. Harry Baggs grasped his arm and led him down to their shanty. French Janin entered first, and immediately the other heard a thin complaint from within:
"Somebody's got that nice bed you made me."
Harry Baggs went into the hut and, stooping, shook a recumbent shape.
"Get out of the old man's place!" he commanded.
A string of muffled oaths responded.
"There's no reserved rooms here."
