a tallish,
fair-headed boy with a ghost of a mustache, at which he pulled manfully.
"We need a rousing old tune."

"'John Peel'? 'Drink, Puppy, Drink'?" suggested Abanazar, smoothing his
baggy lilac pajamas. "Pussy" Abanazar never looked more than one-half
awake, but he owned a soft, slow smile which well suited the part of the
Wicked Uncle.

"Stale," said Aladdin. "Might as well have 'Grandfather's Clock.' What's
that thing you were humming at prep. last night, Stalky?"

Stalky, The Slave of the Lamp, in black tights and doublet, a black silk
half-mask on his forehead, whistled lazily where he lay on the top of
the piano. It was a catchy music-hall tune.

Dick Four cocked his head critically, and squinted down a large red
nose.

"Once more, and I can pick it up," he said, strumming. "Sing the words."

"Arrah, Patsy, mind the baby! Arrah, Patsy, mind the child! Wrap him in
an overcoat, he's surely going wild! Arrah, Patsy, mind the baby! just
you mind the child awhile! He'll kick and bite and cry all night! Arrah,
Patsy, mind the child!"

"Rippin'! Oh, rippin'!" said Dick Four. "Only we shan't have any piano
on the night. We must work it with the banjoes--play an' dance at the
same time. You try, Tertius."

The Emperor pushed aside his pea-green sleeves of state, and followed
Dick Four on a heavy nickel plated banjo.

"Yes, but I'm dead all this time. Bung in the middle of the stage, too,"
said Abanazar.

"Oh, that's Beetle's biznai," said Dick Four. "Vamp it up, Beetle. Don't
keep us waiting all night. You've got to get Pussy out of the light
somehow, and bring us all in dancin' at the end."

"All right. You two play it again," said Beetle, who, in a gray skirt
and a wig of chestnut sausage-curls, set slantwise above a pair of
spectacles mended with an old boot-lace, represented the Widow Twankay.
He waved one leg in time to the hammered refrain, and the banjoes grew
louder.

"Um! Ah! Er--'Aladdin now has won his wife,'" he sang, and Dick Four
repeated it.

"'Your Emperor is appeased.'" Tertius flung out his chest as he
delivered his line.

"Now jump up, Pussy! Say, 'I think I'd better come to life! Then we
all take hands and come forward: 'We hope you've all been pleased.'
_Twiggez-vous_?"

"_Nous twiggons_. Good enough. What's the chorus for the final ballet?
It's four kicks and a turn," said Dick Four.

"Oh! Er!

John Short will ring the curtain down.
And ring the prompter's bell;