st?" said Pinton, in a puzzled voice.

"Well, why not? I studied in Paris, and I suppose my piano technic stood
me in good stead in my newer profession. Just look at my hands if you
doubt my word."

Aghast, the organist examined the shapely hands before him. Without
peradventure of a doubt they were those of a pianist, an expert pianist,
and one who had studied assiduously. He was stupefied. A burglar and a
pianist! What next?

Mr. Blastion continued his edifying remarks: "Yes, I studied very hard.
I was born in the Southwest, and went to Paris quite young. I had good
fingers and was deft at sleight-of-hand tricks. I could steal a
handkerchief from a rabbi--which is saying volumes--and I played all the
Chopin etudes before I was fifteen. At twenty-one I knew twenty-five
concertos from memory, and my great piece was the _Don Juan Fantasy_.
Oh, I was a wonder! When Liszt paid his last visit to Paris I played
before him at the warerooms of the Pleyels.

"Monsieur Theodore Ritter was anxious for his old master to hear such a
pupil. I assure you there must be some congenital twist of evil in me,
for I couldn't for the life of me forbear picking the old fellow's
pockets and lifting his watch. Now don't look scandalized, Mr. ---- eh?
Oh! thank you very much, Mr. Pinton. If you are born that way, all the
punishments and preachments--excuse the alliteration--will not stand in
your way as a warning. I have done time--I mean I have served several
terms of imprisonment, but luckily not for a long period. I suffered
most by my incarceration in not having a piano. Not even a dumb keyboard
was allowed, and I practised the Jackson finger exercises in the air and
thus kept my fingers limber. On Saturdays the warden allowed me, as a
special favour, to practise on the cabinet organ--an odious
instrument--so as to enable me to play on Sundays in chapel. Of course
no practice was needed for the wretched music we poor devils howled once
a week, but I gained one afternoon in seven for study by my ruse.

"Oh, the joy of feeling the ivory--or bone--under my expectant fingers!
I played all the Chopin, Henselt, and Liszt etudes on the miserable
keyboard of the organ. Yes, of course, without wind. It was, I assure
you, a truly spiritual consolation. You can readily imagine if a man has
been in the habit of practising all day, even if he does 'burgle' at
night, that to be suddenly deprived of all instrumental resources is a
bitter blow."

Pi