“Bienvenu,” said little White, “don’t shivaree old Poquelin to-night; he’s”—­

“My fwang,” said the swaying Bienvenu, “who tail you I goin’ to chahivahi somebody, eh?  Yon sink bickause I make a little playfool wiz zis tin pan zat I am dhonk?”

“Oh, no, Bienvenu, old fellow, you’re all right.  I was afraid you might not know that old Poquelin was sick, you know, but you’re not going there, are you?”

“My fwang, I vay soy to tail you zat you ah dhonk as de dev’.  I am shem of you.  I ham ze servan’ of ze publique.  Zese citoyens goin’ to wickwest Jean Poquelin to give to the Ursuline’ two hondred fifty dolla’”—­

“He quoi!” cried a listener, “Cinq cent piastres, oui!”

“Oui!” said Bienvenu, “and if he wiffuse we make him some lit’ musique; ta-ra ta!” He hoisted a merry hand and foot, then frowning, added:  “Old Poquelin got no bizniz dhink s’much w’isky.”

“But, gentlemen,” said little White, around whom a circle had gathered, “the old man is very sick.”

“My faith!” cried a tiny Creole, “we did not make him to be sick.  W’en we have say we going make le charivari, do you want that we hall tell a lie?  My faith! ’sfools!”

“But you can shivaree somebody else,” said desperate little White.

“Oui” cried Bienvenu, “et chahivahi Jean-ah Poquelin tomo’w!”

“Let us go to Madame Schneider!” cried two or three, and amid huzzas and confused cries, among which was heard a stentorian Celtic call for drinks, the crowd again began to move.

“Cent piastres pour l’hopital de charite!”

“Hurrah!”

“One hongred dolla’ for Charity Hospital!”

“Hurrah!”

“Whang!” went a tin pan, the crowd yelled, and Pandemonium gaped again.  They were off at a right angle.

Nodding, Mrs. White looked at the mantle-clock.

“Well, if it isn’t away after midnight.”

The hideous noise down street was passing beyond earshot.  She raised a sash and listened.  For a moment there was silence.  Some one came to the door.

“Is that you, White?”

“Yes.”  He entered.  “I succeeded, Patty.”

“Did you?” said Patty, joyfully.

“Yes.  They’ve gone down to shivaree the old Dutchwoman who married her step-daughter’s sweetheart.  They say she has got to pay a hundred dollars to the hospital before they stop.”

The couple retired, and Mrs. White slumbered.  She was awakened by her husband snapping the lid of his watch.

“What time?” she asked.

“Half-past three.  Patty, I haven’t slept a wink.  Those fellows are out yet.  Don’t you hear them?”

“Why, White, they’re coming this way!”

“I know they are,” said White, sliding out of bed and drawing on his clothes, “and they’re coming fast.  You’d better go away from that window, Patty.  My! what a clatter!”