"No, no, Fred, that'll be too much din!"

Monty made a grab for the instrument, but Fred raised it above his head
and brought it down between his knees with chords that crashed like
wedding bells. Then he changed to softer, languorous music, and when
he had picked out an air to suit his mood, sat down and turned art
loose to do her worst.

He has a good voice. If he would only not pull such faces, or make so
sure that folk within a dozen blocks can hear him, he might pass for a
professional.

"Music suggestive of moonlight!" he said, and began:

"The sentry palms stand motionless. Masts move against
the sky.
With measured creak of curving spars dhows gently to the
jeweled stars
Rock out a lullaby.

"Silver and black sleeps Zanzibar. The moonlit ripples
croon
Soft songs of loves that perfect are, long tales of red-
lipped spoils of war,
And you--you smile, you moon!
For I think that beam on the placid sea
That splashes, and spreads, and dips, and gleams,
That dances and glides till it comes to me
Out of infinite sky, is the path of dreams,
And down that lane the memories run