"Humph!" says she. "I believe it's that fool nephew of mine."

"Not Merry?" says I.

"It must be," says she. "And goodness knows why he's out making an
idiot of himself at this time of night! He'll arouse the whole
neighbourhood."

"Why, I was just thinkin' how classy it was," says I.

"Bah!" says Aunty. "A lot you know about it. Are you dressed, young
man?"

I admits that I am.

"Then I wish you'd go down there and see if it is Merry," says she.
"If it is, tell him I say to come home and go to bed."

"And if it ain't?" says I.

"Go along and see," says she.

I begun to be sorry for Merry. I'd rather pay board than live with a
disposition like that. Down I pikes, out the front door and back
through the shrubby. Meantime the musician has finished "Promise Me"
and has switched to "Annie Laurie." It's easy enough to get the
gen'ral direction the sound comes from; but I couldn't place it exact.
First off I thought it must be from a little summer house down by the
shore; but it wa'n't. I couldn't see anyone around the grounds. Out
on the far end of the Hibbs's wharf, though, there was somethin' dark.