notes, with heavy work in the bass.

Uncle William looked interested. "She's gettin' under way, like enough.

"Sh-h!" The old gentleman held up a hand.

There were some long, flowing lines and a swirling sound that might
have been water, and low growls in the bass, and a general rumbling and
gritting and sliding and tumbling among the notes. The sounds stopped
altogether. The youth sat staring before him. Applause broke from the
audience. The youth got up and left the platform.

Uncle William stared after him with open mouth. "Has he got her done?"
He turned to the man at his side.

"All done. How did you like it?"

"Well"--Uncle William squinted thoughtfully at his program--"I thought I
was goin' to like it fust-rate--if he'd got to it."

"He didn't get there, then?" The man laughed.

"Not to the iceberg." Uncle William shook his head. A kindly look grew
in his face. "I dunno's he's so much to blame, though. An iceberg must
be kind o' hard to do, I should think likely."

"_I_ should think it might be. Music isn't cold enough."

"'T ain't the cold," said Uncle William, hastily. "I run acrost an
iceberg once. We was skirmishin' round up North, in a kind o' white fog,