"Wat? To ze daughtaire of a flute!" the Second-Violin replied. "W'y--"

"Garn!" said the drummer. "Sye, yer myke me sick! You, with yer
black-'aired fyce an' paytent boots! Hi bean 'ammerin' 'ide in
horchestras since me tenth birthdye, but Hi knows a hangel w'en Hi
sees one, an' lawst night Hi missed a 'ole bar on the snare fer
lookin' up at 'er just once. Hi never see a brunette look so
habsolutely hinnocent. Th' Ol' Nick's peekin' out o' brunettes' faces,
somew'eres, mostly. Don't know w'at she myde me think of--m'ybe
wreaths o' roses red an' pink, an' m'ybe crowns o' di'mun's--but Hi
missed a 'ole bar on th' snare fer thinking somethink."

"_Tiens!_" the Frenchman began scornfully. "He is too much--"

"Garn!" said the drummer, threateningly, and it may be that the tinkle
of the "ready" bell prevented something more than words between them,
for the drummer, at the time, was holding the bass-drum-stick. He
could have struck a mighty blow with it.

Just when the thought of leaving for America first began to grow in
Kreutzer's mind, it would be hard to say, but it took definite form
immediately subsequent to the London visit of a Most Exalted Personage
from Prussia. On the last day of this Most Exalted Personage's stay
Herr Kreutzer was enjoying, with his Anna, the long Sunday twilight in
Hyde Park. They often strolled there of a Sunday evening. The Most
Exalted Personage, being in a democratic mood and wishful of seeing
London and its people quietly, was also strolling in Hyde Park and met
the father and the daughter, face to face.

There was nothing, so far as Anna saw, about the stranger in plain