ed from him. He clutched his chair with
both hands and beamed. The audience laughed with delight and clapped an
encore.

"Goin' to do it again, is he?" said Uncle William. "Now that's good of
him, ain't it? But I should think he'd kind o' like to. I'd like to do
it myself if I could."

"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest!" rolled out the voice.

"He gets the spirit of it," said the old gentleman when the song had
ended and the applause had subsided.

"Jest so. I've been there myself--come within an ace o' havin' _my_
chest set on once. They was all fightin' drunk, too--jest like that.
Gives ye the same kind o' feelin's--creepy and shivery-like. What's
_he_ goin' to do?" A long-haired youth had appeared on the platform. He
approached the piano and stood looking at it thoughtfully, his head a
little to one side.

"It's Flanders. He plays the MacDowell--the 'Wandering Iceberg,' you
know."

"H'm-m." Uncle William took down his spectacles to look at the youth
through them. "You think he can do it all right? He ain't very hefty."

The youth had seated himself. He struck a heavy, thundering chord on the
keys and subsided. His hands hung relaxed at his sides and his eyes were
fixed dreamily on the wall before him.

"Has he got her started?" It was a loud whisper from Uncle William.

The old gentleman shook his head.

Uncle William waited patiently. There was a gentle trickle on the
keys--and another. Then a pause and more trickles--then some galloping
notes, with heavy work in the bass.

Uncle William looked interested. "She's gettin' under way, like enough.

"Sh-h!" The old gentleman held up a hand.

There were some long, flowing lines and a swirling sound that might
have been water, and low growls in the bass, and a general rumbling and
gritting and sliding and tumbling among the notes. The sounds stopped
altogether. The youth sat staring before him. Applause broke from the
audience. The youth got up and left the platform.

Uncle William stared after him with open mouth. "Has he got her done?"
He turned to the man at his side.

"All done. How did you like it?"

"Well"--Uncle William squinted thoughtfully at his program--"I thought I
was goin' to like it fust-rate--if he'd got to it."

"He didn't get there, then?" The man laughed.

"Not to the iceberg." Uncle William shook his head. A kindly look grew
in his face. "I dunno's he's so much to blame, though. An iceberg must
be kind o' hard to do, I should th