timidly, hovering about them, fidgeting.

"Herr Hackh," he suddenly exclaimed, in a queer, strained voice, "you do
not know how dis yong man iss goot! No! He hass to me--_immer_--" He
choked, turned away, and began fussing with the pith flowers; but not
before Rudolph had seen a line glistening down the sun-dried cheeks.

"Stuff! Cadging for chow, does one acquire merit?" retorted Heywood,
over his shoulder. "You talk like a bonze, Wutz." He winked. "I'd rather
hear the sing-song box."

"_Ach so_, I forget!" Still whimpering, Wutzler dragged something from a
corner, squatted, and jerked at a crank, with a noise of ratchets. "She
blay not so moch now," he snuffled. "Captain Kneepone he has gifen her,
when she iss all op inside for him. I haf rebaired, but she blay only
one song yet. A man does not know, Herr Hackh, what he may be. Once I
haf piano, and viola my own, yes, and now haf I diss small, laffing,
sick teufel!" He rose, and faced Heywood with a trembling, passionate
gesture. "But diss yong man, he stand by der oldt fellow!" The streaming
eyes blinked absurdly.

Behind him, with a whirring sound, a metallic voice assailed them in a
gabble of words, at first husky and broken, then clear, nasal, a voice
from neither Europe nor Asia, but America:--


"Then did I laff?
Ooh, aha-ha ha ha,
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
I could not help but laffing,