your soup and see if it hasn't been scorched, or
taste of your pudding and see if you didn't put
in salt instead of sugar.''

``Bertram, will you be still?'' cut in Cyril,
testily, again.

``After all, judging from what Billy tells me,''
resumed Bertram, cheerfully, ``what I've said
won't be so important to you, for you aren't the
kind that scorches soups or uses salt for sugar.
So maybe I'd better put it to you this way: if you
want a new sealskin coat or an extra diamond
tiara, tackle him when he plays like this!'' And
with a swift turn Bertram dropped himself to the
piano stool and dashed into a rollicking melody
that half the newsboys of Boston were whistling.

What happened next was a surprise to every one.
Bertram, very much as if he were a naughty
little boy, was jerked by a wrathful brother's
hand off the piano stool. The next moment the
wrathful brother himself sat at the piano, and
there burst on five pairs of astonished ears a
crashing dissonance which was but the prelude
to music such as few of the party often heard.

Spellbound they listened while rippling runs
and sonorous harmonies filled the room to overflowing,
as if under the fingers of the player there