Lemoyne, at the first word of
invitation, had seated himself at the instrument--a lesser than the "grand"
downstairs, but not unworthy; then, with but a measure or so of prelude,
the two voices had begun to ring out in the old nautical ballad. Lemoyne
felt the composition to be primitive, antiquated and of slight value; but
he had received his cue, and both his throat and his hands wrought with an
elaborate expressiveness. He sang and played, if not with sincerity, at
least with effect. His voice was a high, ringing tenor; not too ringing for
Cope's resonant baritone, but almost too sweet: a voice which might cloy
(if used alone) within a few moments. Cope was a perfect second, and the
two went at it with a complete unity of understanding and of sentiment.
Together they viewed--in thirds--"the gath'ring clouds"; together--still in
thirds--they roused themselves "at the welcome call" of "Larboard watch,
ahoy!" Disregarding the mere words, they attained, at the finish, to
something like feeling--or even like a touch of passion. Medora Phillips
had never heard Cope sing like that before; had never seen so much
animation in his singing face.
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