SINGER. The only notes he knows, ladies. TALKER (indignantly). Oh, fie, Sir, fie! I protest, Madame, he maligns me. Have I not a G of surpassing splendour, of a fruitiness rarely encountered in this vale of tears? Madame, you must hear my G. Now, where is it? (He arranges his fingers with great care on the pipe.) I have it. (He blows a G, and bows deeply first to MOTHER and then to DAUGHTER.) SINGER. Marvellous! MOTHER (to TALKER). I thank you, Sir. DAUGHTER. Oh, Mother, isn't he splendid? TALKER (to MOTHER). Would you like my G again, Madame? MOTHER. Not just now, I thank you, sir. Doubtless we shall feel more in need of it a little later on. But tell me, Sir, have you no other talent to match the singing and playing of your friends? FIDDLER. He talks. MOTHER. I had noticed it. TALKER. This gift of talking with which her Royal Sweetness is good enough to credit me, irksome though it is to a man of silent habit like myself, a creature, as you will have noticed, of taciturn disposition; this--I--(Frankly) Madame, I have lost that sentence. Have I your gracious permission to begin again? MOTHER. I think it would be better, Sir. TALKER. Then, to put it shortly, Madame-- MOTHER. If you could, sir. TALKER. To be completely frank in this matter, Madame, I--er--go round with the hat. It is a sordid but necessary business. DAUGHTER (eagerly). Oh, I hope they give you plenty of money. TALKER. Enough to support life, Mademoiselle. The hungry look which you observe upon His Flutiness is, as I have explained, due to melancholy. DAUGHTER. You are going to perform, aren't you? TALKER. Of a surety, Mademoiselle. Perhaps I should add that for myself I am resting just now, and that my part of the performance will be limited to nothing more than a note or two upon the pipe. MOTHER (with a friendly smile). Sir, you are generous. We shall be glad to hear your friends. (The TALKER bows and turns to his company.) TALKER. A song, good Master Duke, a song which her Royal Sweetness will accompany upon the fiddle. Let it end, I pray you, with a G, so that I may bring the thing to a climax upon the last note. FIDDLER (to SINGER). Morland Hill. SINGER. You like that? (She nods.) Very well. (He sings.) Oh, when the wind is in the North, I take my staff and sally forth; And when it whistles from the East I do not mind it in the least; The warm wind murmurs through the trees Its messages from Southern seas; But after all perhaps the best Is that which whispers from the West. Oh let the wind, the wind be what it will, So long as I may walk on Morland Hill! The staff which helps to carry me, I cut it from the Hazel-tree; But once I had a cudgel torn Most circumspectly from the Thorn; I know a fellow, far from rash, Who swears entirely by the Ash; And all good travellers invoke A blessing on the mighty Oak.