whanging at that disreputable old violin of his. And when Rodney
Hade comes over here. I can't get a lick of work out of Roke,
for love or money. Hade is one of the best amateur violinists
in America, and he's daft on playing. He drops in here. every
now and then--he has an interest with me in the groves--and as
soon as he catches sight of Roke's violin. he starts playing it.
That means no more work out of Roke till Hade chooses to stop.
He just stands, with his mouth wide open, hypnotized. Can't
drag him away for a second. Hey. Roke?"

Roke had ceased nursing his wrist and had listened
with sheepish amusement to his employer's guying. But at this
question, he made answer:

"I'm here now."

He jerked the thumb of his uninjured hand toward a spic-
and-span launch which lay moored between two sodden scows, and
then nodded in the direction of the corrugated iron hut among
the trees.

Listening--though the wind set the wrong way for it--Brice
could hear faintly the strains of a violin. played ever so
softly and with a golden wealth of sweetness. Even at that
distance, by listening closely, he could make out a phrase or
so of Dvorak's "Hiawatha" music from the "New World Symphony."
Milo's loud laugh broke in on his audition and on the suddenly
rapt look upon Roke's bruised face.

"Come along!" said Standish, leading the way toward the house.