"No!" exclaims Haggart angrily. "Not all. There are some who tell
the truth there, too. I shall cut your ears off if you will slander
honest people. Do you hear?"

"Yes."

They are silent; they listen to the wild music of the sea. The wind
has evidently grown mad. Having taken into its embrace a multitude
of instruments with which human beings produce their music--harps,
reed-pipes, priceless violins, heavy drums and brass trumpets--it
breaks them all, together with a wave, against the sharp rocks. It
dashes them and bursts into laughter--only thus does the wind
understand music--each time in the death of an instrument, each time
in the breaking of strings, in the snapping of the clanging brass.
Thus does the mad musician understand music. Haggart heaves a deep
sigh and with some amazement, like a man just awakened from sleep,
looks around on all sides. Then he commands shortly:

"Give me my pipe."

"Here it is."

Both commence to smoke.

"Don't be angry, Noni," says the sailor. "You have become so angry
that one can't come near you at all. May I chat with you?"

"There are some who do tell the truth there, too," says Haggart
sternly, emitting rings of smoke.