Early summer passed away quickly enough in constant rehearsals. Sylvia was pleased to find that she had been right in supposing that the state of domestic affairs would be improved by Jimmy's plan. Mabel turned out to be a good singer for the kind of performance they were going to give, and the amount of emotion she put into her songs left her with less to work off on Henry, who recovered some of his old self and was often really funny, especially in his duologues with Monkley. Sylvia picked out for herself and learned a few songs, most of which were condemned as unsuitable by Jimmy. The one that she liked best and in her own opinion sang best was the "Raggle Taggle Gipsies," though the others all prophesied for it certain failure. Monkley himself played all the accompaniments and by his personality kept the whole show together; he also sang a few songs, which, although he had practically no voice, were given with such point that Sylvia felt convinced that his share in the performance would be the most popular of the lot. Shortly before they were to start on tour, which was fixed for the beginning of July, Monkley decided that they wanted another man who could really sing, and a young tenor known as Claude Raglan was invited to join the party. He was a good-looking youth, much in earnest, and with a tendency toward consumption, of which he was very proud. "Though what there is to be proud of in losing one of your lungs I don't know. I might as well be proud because I lost a glove the other day." Henry was severe upon Claude Raglan from the beginning. Perhaps he suspected him of admiring Mabel. There was often much tension at rehearsals on account of Henry's attitude; once, for instance, when Claude Raglan had sung "Little Dolly Daydreams" with his usual romantic fervor, Henry took a new song from his pocket and, having planted it down with a defiant snap on the music-stand, proceeded to sing: "I'll give him Dolly Daydreams Down where the poppies grow; I'll give him Dolly Daydreams, The pride of Idaho. And if I catch him kissing her There's sure to be some strife, Because if he's got anything he wants to give away, Let him come and give it to his wife." The tenor declared that Henry's song, which was in the nature of a derogatory comment upon his own, could only have the effect of spoiling the more serious contribution. "What of it?" Henry asked, truculently. "It seems to me perfectly obvious," Claude said, with an effort to restrain his annoyance.