He tired of his popcorn and placed it under his seat. He went on with his song, accompanying it with the most ridiculous grimaces: "When years were gone by, she began to rue Her love for the gentleman, (meaning you!) 'I slighted the journeyman fond,' quoth she, 'But where is my gallant of high degree? Where! where! Oh! where is my gallant of high degree?' Ho! ho! ho!" "What are you doing here!" demanded Thames. It would be downright cruel to disillusion her. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. "I have killed her," exclaimed Jack, dropping the bar,—"by your advice, Thames. Courtlaw. You feel that that smile is for you, the words are for you, the whole song is for you. Nobody can anticipate your next move. “You will have to eat soon,” he said cryptically.
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