In the centre the
companion ladder plunged down sheerly like an open pit. Below, on
the first landing, and lighted by another lamp, lads and lasses
danced, not more than three at a time for lack of space, in jigs and
reels and hornpipes. Above, on either side, there was a recess
railed with iron, perhaps two feet wide and four long, which stood
for orchestra and seats of honour. In the one balcony, five
slatternly Irish lasses sat woven in a comely group. In the other
was posted Orpheus, his body, which was convulsively in motion,
forming an odd contrast to his somnolent, imperturbable Scots face.
His brother, a dark man with a vehement, interested countenance, who
made a god of the fiddler, sat by with open mouth, drinking in the
general admiration and throwing out remarks to kindle it.
'That's a bonny hornpipe now,' he would say, 'it's a great favourite
with performers; they dance the sand dance to it.' And he expounded
the sand dance. Then suddenly, it would be a long, 'Hush!' with
uplifted finger and glowing, supplicating eyes, 'he's going to play
"Auld Robin Gray " on one string!' And throughout this excruciating
movement, - 'On one string, that's on one string!' he kept crying.
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