nos to be tuned with an L head wrench."

"My wife," said John, "recalled you to me last night, in the effort to
remedy her omission to pay you for your services yesterday. I remember
your sister's case very distinctly. I hope she is ..."

"She is quite well, thank you," March said. Oddly enough his manner
stiffened a little.

John hastily produced his check. It had struck him as possible that March
might suspect him of hinting that one gratuitous service ought to offset
the other.

"I hope the amount is satisfactory," he said.

March glanced at the check and smiled. "It's rather more than
satisfactory; I should call it handsome. Thank you very much." He tucked
the check into the pocket of his shirt.

"My wife's immensely pleased over what you did to her piano. I'm sure she
will be glad to do all she can in the way of recommending you among her
musical friends."

March looked at him in consternation. "Oh, she mustn't do that!" he
cried. "I hope she won't--recommend me to any one."

John's sudden unwelcome surmise must have been legible in his face
because March then said earnestly and quite as if the doctor had spoken
his thought aloud, "Oh, it isn't that. I mean, I haven't done anything
disgraceful. It's only that I know too many musicians as it
is--professional pianists and such. If they find out I'm back, they'll
simply make a slave of me. I don't need to earn much money and I like to
live my own way, but it's hard to deny people what they are determined to
get." He added thoughtfully, "I dare say you understand that, sir."

John Wollaston nodded. He understood very well indeed. He checked on his
tongue the words, "Only I _have_ to earn a lot of money." "You are a
composer, too, my wife tells me."

"Yes," March said, "but that isn't the point exactly. Put it that I enjoy
traveling light and that I don't like harness. Though this one,"--he
glanced down at his uniform,--"hasn't been so bad." He turned toward the
piano with the evident idea of going back to work.

"Well," John said, "I must be off. You've a good philosophy of life if
you can make it work. Not many men can. Good-by. We'll meet again some
time, I hope."

"I hope so too," said Anthony March.

John went out and closed the drawing-room door behind him. Then he left
the house without going up-stairs and saying hello to Paula and sitting
down on the edge of her bed, as he had meant to do, and telling her all
about his talk with the piano tuner.