He broke off abruptly. He had been pouring-out all kinds of confidences
to his new-found friend. Now he hesitated. The boldness of his nature
deserted him. The deadly preparedness failed. A shy appealing look came
into his eyes as he asked his next question--a grave question indeed:

"_Mister, do you love music?_"

"Do I love music?" echoed the startled musician, pierced by the
spear-like sincerity of the question, which seemed to go clean through
him and his knowledge and to point back to childhood's springs of
feeling. "Do I love music? Yes, some music, I hope. Some kinds of music,
I hope."

These moderate, chastened words restored the boy's confidence and
completely captured his friendship. Now he felt sure of his comrade,
and he put to him a more searching question:

"Do _you_ know anything about the cathedral?"

The man smiled guiltily.

"A little. I know a little about the cathedral," he admitted.

There was a moment of tense, anxious silence. And now the whole secret
came out:

"Do you know how boys get into the cathedral choir school?"

The man did not answer. He stood looking down at the lad, in whose eyes