"That young cock. Drink--well, of course I do. No sense in only eating....
Let's look about for a place where there's a piano," said Falkenberg.

I thought to myself: a piano on a place means well-to-do folk; that's
where he is going to start stealing.

In the afternoon we came to just such a place. Falkenberg had put on my
town clothes beforehand, and given me his sack to carry so he could walk
in easily, with an air. He went straight up to the front steps, and I lost
sight of him for a bit, then he came out again and said yes, he was going
to tune their piano.

"Going to _what?_"

"You be quiet," said Falkenberg. "I've done it before, though I don't go
bragging about it everywhere."

He fished out a piano-tuner's key from his sack, and I saw he was in
earnest.

I was ordered to keep near the place while he was tuning.

Well, I wandered about to pass the time; every now and then coming round
to the south side of the house, I could hear Falkenberg at work on the
piano in the parlour, and forcibly he dealt with it. He could not strike a
decent chord, but he had a good ear; whenever he screwed up a string, he
was careful to screw it back again exactly where it was before, so the
instrument at any rate was none the worse.