It was printed on a card, which was affixed to the door by means of a drawing-pin, and from within came the sound of a contralto voice singing to a guitar accompaniment.  One by one the male residents of Big Stone Hole drew near to that iron-roofed hut and stopped to listen; but after commenting on the innovation in gleeful whispers—­for guitar had never twanged in that part of Africa before—­they moved on to their work.  No consideration could cause them to neglect that.  They might fritter away the dull, rough gems when they had found them, but the lust of handling diamonds once was the strongest passion they knew.  And so the day’s toil was not curtailed; but at the conclusion Miss Musgrave had an application for instruction in music from every man in the camp, with one exception.  This one defaulter was Euchre Buck.  He owned to having no ear for music—­thereby exhibiting more honesty than many of the others—­and confessed to knowing only two tunes, one of which was “Hail Columbia,” and the other—­wasn’t; and so he said he wanted some “literary work done.”  He proposed to Miss Musgrave that she should write a history of his life at half a guinea a page, thereby—­cute Yankee that he was—­thinking to appropriate the whole of her time.

But embarrassed by all these calls upon her, and obviously unable to satisfy each of them, Miss Musgrave turned for help to the Scholar, whom she appeared to regard as her special adviser; and he, promising a solution of the difficulty in half an hour, drew off the whole crowd to the American Bar, where the question was thrashed out in all its points.

It was clearly evident that Miss Musgrave could not surrender to each individual the whole of her evening, even if any one had been willing to let his neighbor monopolise it, which no one was; and therefore it was necessary to formulate some scheme by which her talents might be distributed over a larger area.  But what the scheme should be was not settled all in a minute.  One man wanted to hear her sing, another to hear her talk, another was willing to give five pounds an hour for the privilege of talking to her.  After a lengthened discussion, which was excited throughout, and at times verged on the warlike, it was decided to effect a compromise—­subject, of course, to Miss Musgrave’s inclinations; and a deputation was sent to learn her views on the subject.

There was no assembly-room in the place, excepting Werstein’s saloon,—­which, of course, was not available for such a purpose,—­and so it was proposed to her, with much humility, that she should take up her position in the evenings on a chair outside her hut, and there discourse such vocal and instrumental music as she saw fit, interlarding the same with friendly conversation.  What was she to talk about?  Anything—­absolutely anything.  They didn’t mind what it was, so long as they heard her voice.  Five shillings, the committee had decided, was to be paid by every man who came within earshot.  And any one who wanted a free list was requested to argue the matter out with Euchre Buck.