humbly beg your pardon."

His accent was that of a cultivated gentleman. Pinton, somewhat assured,
dropped back in his seat, and, John passing by just then, more beer was
ordered.

"Hear me before you condemn me," said the odd young man. "My name is
Blastion and I am a burglar by profession. When I saw you the other
night, at work on the premises next door to me, I was struck by your
refined face. I said to myself: 'At last the profession is being
recruited by gentlemen, men of culture, men of refinement. At last a
profitable, withal risky, pursuit is being dignified, nay, graced, by
the proper sort of person.' And I saluted you in a happy, haphazard
fashion, and then you flew the coop. Pardon my relapse into the
vernacular."

Pinton felt that it was time to speak.

"Pardon me, if I interrupt you, Mr. Blastion; but I fear we are not
meeting on equal ground. You take me for a--for a man of your
profession. Indeed, sir, you are mistaken. When you discovered me last
Saturday night I was in the pantry of Mrs. Hallam, my boarding-house
keeper, searching for pie. I am not a burglar--pardon my harsh
expression; I am, instead, an organist by profession."

The pallor of the burglar's countenance testified to the gravity of his
feeling. He stared and blushed, looked apprehensively at the various
groups of domino players in the back room, then, pulling himself
together, he beckoned to melancholy John, and said:--

"Johann, two more beers, please. Yes?"

Pinton became interested. There was something appealing in the signal
the man flashed from his eyes when he realized that he had unbosomed
himself to a perfect stranger, and not to a member of his beloved guild.
The organist put his hand on the man's arm and said--faint memories of
flatulent discourses from the Reverend Bulgerly coming to his aid: "Be
not alarmed, my friend. I will not betray you. I am a musician, but I
respect art ever, even when it reveals itself in manifold guises."

Pinton felt that he was a man of address, a fellow of some wit; his
confidential and rather patronizing pose moved his companion, who slyly
grimaced.

"So you are an organist and not a member of the noble Knights of the
Centrebit and Jimmy?" he asked rather sarcastically.

"Yes," admitted Pinton, "I am an organist, and an organist who would
fain become a pianist." The other started.

"I am a pianist myself, and yet I cannot say that I would like to play
the organ."

"You are a piani