"Hurrah! Hurrah! A song from Tommy," cried the crowd. "Make us up a song, and put us all into it! A song from Tommy! A song! A song!" There was a queer light in the eye of the Irishman. I observed him narrowly--expectantly. Often I had read of this phenomenal art of improvised ballad-singing, but had always remained a little skeptical in regard to the possibility of such a feat. Even in the notable instances of this gift as displayed by the very clever Theodore Hook, I had always half suspected some prior preparation--some adroit forecasting of the sequence that seemed the instant inspiration of his witty verses. Here was evidently to be a test example, and I was all alert to mark its minutest detail. The clamor had subsided, and Tommy had drawn a chair near to and directly fronting the Major's. His right hand was extended, closely grasping the right hand of his friend which he scarce perceptibly, though measuredly, lifted and let fall throughout the length of all the curious performance. The voice was not unmusical, nor was the quaint old ballad-air adopted by the singer unlovely in the least; simply a monotony was evident that accorded with the levity and chance-finish of the improvisation--and that the song was improvised on the instant I am certain--though in nowise remarkable, for other reasons, in rhythmic worth or finish. And while his smiling auditors all drew nearer, and leant, with parted lips to catch every syllable, the words of the strange melody trailed unhesitatingly into the line; literally, as here subjoined: "One gloomy day in the airly Fall, Whin the sunshine had no chance at all-- No chance at all for to gleam and shine And lighten up this heart of mine: " 'Twas in South Bend, that famous town, Whilst I were a-strollin' round and round, I met some friends and they says to me: 'It's a hunt we'll take on the Kankakee!' " "Hurrah for the Kankakee! Give it to us, Tommy!" cried an enthusiastic voice between verses. "Now give it to the Major!" And the song went on: "There's Major Blowney leads the van, As crack a shot as an Irishman,-- For it's the duck is a tin decoy That his owld shotgun can't destroy:" And a half-dozen jubilant palms patted the Major's shoulders, and his ruddy, good-natured face beamed with delight. "Now give it to the rest of 'em, Tommy!" chuckled the Major. And the song continued:-- "And along wid 'Hank' is Mick Maharr, And Barney Pince, at 'The Shamrock' bar-- There's Barney Pinch, wid his heart so true; And the Andrews Brothers they'll go too." "Hold on, Tommy!" chipped in one of the Andrews; "you must give 'the Andrews Brothers' a better advertisement than that! Turn us on a full verse, can't you?" "Make 'em pay for it if you do!" said the Major in an undertone. And Tommy promptly amended.--