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Updated: May 21, 2025
'I should say, when they feel warmly enough to think little of their differences. 'Fire smoothes the creases, yes; and fire is what they're both wanting in. Though Priscy has Concert-pathos in her voice: couldn't act a bit! And Pempton's 'cello tones now and then have gone through me simply from his fiddle-bow, I believe.
"Lads," said the man with the 'cello, in a fat and comfortable voice, "that was proper! He's a pretty writer, this here Bee-thoven. Rewben, the hallygro's a twister, I can tell thee. Thee hadst better grease thy elbow afore we start on it. Ruth, fetch a jug o' beer, theer's a good wench. I'm as dry as Bill Duke. Thee canst do a drop, 'Saiah, I know." "Why, yes," returned the second-fiddle.
Ronnie paid his bill, took up the 'cello, handed his bag to the inspector, and marched off gaily to claim his luggage. He felt like conquering the world! The fog was lifting. The roar of the city sounded more natural. He had an excellent report to make to his publisher, heaps of "copy" to show him, and then he was going home to Helen. In the taxi he placed the Infant on the seat beside him.
The younger of the two men sat well forward, elbows on knees, eyes alight with excitement, intently gazing at the 'cello. The other lay back in his chair, his thin sensitive fingers carefully placed tip to tip, his deep-set eyes scrutinising his companion. When he spoke his voice was calm and deliberate, his manner exceedingly quiet.
When Helen had left the room, Dick glanced furtively over his shoulder into the mirror. The Italian chair, in the reflection, now lay broken on the floor! "Hum!" said Dr. Dick. "Not bad, that for an Infant! Precocious, I call it. We must have that 'cello re-christened the 'Demon of Prague'!"
Dick, I had a terrible scene with Ronnie!" Dick stood up. "Tell me," he said. "I told Ronnie that he was utterly, preposterously, and altogether selfish, and that I was ashamed of him." "Whew! You certainly did not mince matters," said Dr. Dick. "What had poor old Ronnie done?" "He had talked, from the moment of his return, of very little save the 'cello he has brought home.
At one end of the room stood a small upright piano, a 'cello held one corner, a guitar another; upon a table a cornet was deposited, and on the piano a violin case could be seen, while a banjo hung from a nail on the wall.
It was the immortal story, matchless in the language, of Joseph, the Hebrew shepherd boy, who, sold into slavery by his brethren, became prime minister of the mighty empire of Egypt. The voice tone of the minister, now clear and high, now low and soft, vibrating like the deeper notes of the 'cello, was made for story telling.
It is just the kind of thing which would appeal to our joint sense of humour. But first you must answer a few more questions. Helen where is my 'cello?" "At home, Ronnie." "Was it broken?" Helen looked distressed. "No, darling, it was not injured at all. It is safely put away. Look how the sunlight sparkles on those distant ripples!" "I have finished with the ripples thank you, darling.
Then came from the yard a sound of tuning instruments, squeak of fiddle, croon of 'cello, a falling triangle ringing and tinkling to the floor; and he turned pale. Chosen guests began to arrive, while Penrod, suffering from stage-fright and perspiration, stood beside his mother, in the "drawing-room," to receive them.
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