Getting another late start, I decided to sit quietly on a bench and wait for the cowboy to go home. With the days remaining in the season growing ever fewer, I wanted my time at center stage and, by God, I would have it. Chatting with some tourists sitting near me, I learned that the Boyd family singers were wonderful, and that the cowboy played all their favorite songs. Go figure.

I opened with “Making Love Ukulele Style.” As I played, I detected a twang in my low-G string, a wire wrapped item that hasn’t been changed all year. Experience tells me this string will soon snap. Upon examination, I can’t find any fraying, which usually begins directly over one of the frets. My challenge now is to finish the season, so I can change all the strings at once in January.

A young man stopped in front of me to take a picture. Unlike practically every photographer who’s pointed a camera, cellphone or iPad at me, this one coughed up a buck.

“Have you got time for a hula today?” Three older women talked it over, and one of them, Diane, started shaking her hips. “Do you know any birthday songs?” It was Diane’s 80th birthday. I put a lei around her neck and sang “Happy Birthday” while one of them shot video. “What about that hula?” the videographer called out. Diane was game and did a slow, yet stylish, hula. The women were from Dallas, where, I reminisced, I had gone ice skating at the indoor rink at the Galleria shopping center when the outside temp was 107. When they left, with shouts of Aloha echoing through the fountain, I found a crisp fiver in my case.

Two blond teenagers were encouraged by their mom to dance. During the intro to “The Hukilau Song,” brother and sister danced in unison, but with the start of the verse, sister went free-style, literally dancing circles around her brother. A laughing mom handed me $3.

A 30-something woman all in black walked slowly past me, and without breaking stride tossed 2 quarters in my case. By the time I got to the end of a breath-line in my song, it was too late to ask her to dance. A 40-something man gave me a dollar, saying, “Keep on playing, man.”

“Do you like ukulele music?”

“Not particularly, but I like what you’re doing.”

It was another great day for wedding photos. I counted 6 brides in my 90 minutes at the fountain. As is my wont, I broke into “The Hawaiian Wedding Song” every time a bride showed up. Rarely am I rewarded; most of the time the wedding couple doesn’t have a clue what I’m singing. Today, however, a photographer, 1 of 4 that were assembled to take pictures of a particularly large wedding party, gave me a dollar, bringing the day’s total to a respectable $11.50.

Packing up, Kate, who plays the viola for John Boyd, came by to ask if her friend on the alto sax, who had set up 180 degrees from me, with taped accompaniment, was interfering with me. “Not anymore,” I said, “I’m done for the day.” Fact is, I’d heard him between numbers, but not at all while playing, my measure of when buskers are too close together. “But thanks for your concern,” I added. “See you tomorrow.”