e amount of energy, is sometimes
appalling in the severity of the strain it puts upon the tongue. So,
while I do not wonder that your Cuban pianist showed woful defects in
his use of the pedals, I do wonder that, even with his surprising
agility, he had sufficient energy to manipulate the keys to the
satisfaction of so competent a witness as yourself."

"It was too bad; but we made up for it later," asserted the other.
"There was a young girl there who gave us some of Mendelssohn's Songs
without Words. Her expression was simply perfect. I wouldn't have missed
it for all the world; and now that I think of it, in a few days I can
let you see for yourself how splendid it was. We persuaded her to encore
the songs in the dark, and we got a flash-light photograph of two of
them."

"Oh! then it was not on the piano-forte she gave them?" said the Idiot.

"Oh no; all labial," returned the genial gentleman.

Here Mr. Whitechoker began to look concerned, and whispered something to
the School-master, who replied that there were enough others present to
cope with the two parties to the conversation in case of a violent
outbreak.

"I'd be very glad to see the photographs," replied the Idiot. "Can't I
secure copies of them for my collection? You know I have the complete
rendering of 'Home, Sweet Home' in kodak views, as sung by Patti. They
are simply wonderful, and they prove what has repeatedly been said by
critics, that, in the matter of expression, the superior of Patti has
never been seen."

"I'll try to get them for you, though I doubt it can be done. The artist
is a very shy young girl, and does not care to have her efforts given
too great a publicity until she is ready to go into music a little more
deeply. She is going to read the 'Moonlight Sonata' to us at our next
concert. You'd better come. I'm told her gestures bring out the
composer's meaning in a manner never as yet equalled."

[Illustration: "'THE CORKS POPPED TO SOME PURPOSE LAST NIGHT'"]

"I'll be there; thank you," returned the Idiot. "And the next time those
fellows at the club are down for a pool tournament I want you to come up
and hear them play. It was extraordinary last night to hear the balls
dropping one by one--click, click, click--as regularly as a metronome,
into the pockets. One of the finest shots, I am sorry to say, I missed."

"How did it happen?" asked the Bibliomaniac. "Weren't your ears long
enough?"

"It was a kiss shot, and I couldn't