will be glad to do all she can in the way of recommending you among her
musical friends."

March looked at him in consternation. "Oh, she mustn't do that!" he
cried. "I hope she won't--recommend me to any one."

John's sudden unwelcome surmise must have been legible in his face
because March then said earnestly and quite as if the doctor had spoken
his thought aloud, "Oh, it isn't that. I mean, I haven't done anything
disgraceful. It's only that I know too many musicians as it
is--professional pianists and such. If they find out I'm back, they'll
simply make a slave of me. I don't need to earn much money and I like to
live my own way, but it's hard to deny people what they are determined to
get." He added thoughtfully, "I dare say you understand that, sir."

John Wollaston nodded. He understood very well indeed. He checked on his
tongue the words, "Only I _have_ to earn a lot of money." "You are a
composer, too, my wife tells me."

"Yes," March said, "but that isn't the point exactly. Put it that I enjoy
traveling light and that I don't like harness. Though this one,"--he
glanced down at his uniform,--"hasn't been so bad." He turned toward the
piano with the evident idea of going back to work.

"Well," John said, "I must be off. You've a good philosophy of life if
you can make it work. Not many men can. Good-by. We'll meet again some
time, I hope."

"I hope so too," said Anthony March.