Coffee and Repartee Page 5
IV
The guests were assembled as usual. The oatmeal course had been eaten insilence. In the Idiot's eye there was a cold glitter of expectancy--aglitter that boded ill for the man who should challenge him tocontroversial combat--and there seemed also to be, judging from sundrywinks passed over the table and kicks passed under it, an understandingto which he and the genial gentleman who occasionally imbibed wereparties.
As the School-master sampled his coffee the genial gentleman whooccasionally imbibed broke the silence.
"I missed you at the concert last night, Mr. Idiot," said he.
"Yes," said the Idiot, with a caressing movement of the hand over hisupper lip; "I was very sorry, but I couldn't get around last night. Ihad an engagement with a number of friends at the athletic club. Imeant to have dropped you a line in the afternoon telling you about it,but I forgot it until it was too late. Was the concert a success?"
"Very successful indeed. The best one, in fact, we have had this season,which makes me regret all the more deeply your absence," returned thegenial gentleman, with a suggestion of a smile playing about his lips."Indeed," he added, "it was the finest one I've ever seen."
"The finest one you've what?" queried the School-master, startled at theverb.
"The finest one I've ever seen," replied the genial gentleman. "Therewere only ten performers, and really, in all my experience as anattendant at concerts, I never saw such a magnificent rendering ofBeethoven as we had last night. I wish you could have been there. It wasa sight for the gods."
"I don't believe," said the Idiot, with a slight cough that may havebeen intended to conceal a laugh--and that may also have been the resultof too many cigarettes--"I don't believe it could have been any moreinteresting than a game of pool I heard at the club."
"It appears to me," said the Bibliomaniac to the School-master, "thatthe popping sounds we heard late last night in the Idiot's room may havesome connection with the present mode of speech these two gentlemenaffect."
"Let's hear them out," returned the School-master, "and then we'll takethem into camp, as the Idiot would say."
"I don't know about that," replied the genial gentleman. "I've seen agreat many concerts, and I've heard a great many good games of pool, butthe concert last night was simply a ravishing spectacle. We had a Cubanpianist there who played the orchestration of the first act of_Parsifal_ with surprising agility. As far as I could see, he didn'tmiss a note, though it was a little annoying to observe how he used thepedals."
"Too forcibly, or how?" queried the Idiot.
"Not forcibly enough," returned the Imbiber. "He tried to work them bothwith one foot. It was the only thing to mar an otherwise marvellousperformance. The idea of a man trying to display Wagner with two handsand one foot is irritating to a musician with a trained eye."
"'WEREN'T YOUR EARS LONG ENOUGH?'"]
"I wish the Doctor would come down," said Mrs. Smithers, anxiously.
"Yes," put in the School-master; "there seems to be madness in ourmidst."
"Well, what can you expect of a Cuban, anyhow?" queried the Idiot. "TheCuban, like the Spaniard or the Italian or the African, hasn't the vigorwhich is necessary for the proper comprehension and rendering ofWagner's music. He is by nature slow and indolent. If it were easier fora Spaniard to hop than to walk, he'd hop, and rest his other leg. I'veknown Italians whose diet was entirely confined to liquids, because theywere too tired to masticate solids. It is the ease with which it can beabsorbed that makes macaroni the favorite dish of the Italians, and thefondness of all Latin races for wines is entirely due, I think, to thefact that wine can be swallowed without chewing. This indolence affectsalso their language. The Italian and the Spaniard speak the languagethat comes easy--that is soft and dreamy; while the Germans andRussians, stronger, more energetic, indulge in a speech that even tous, who are people of an average amount of energy, is sometimesappalling in the severity of the strain it puts upon the tongue. So,while I do not wonder that your Cuban pianist showed woful defects inhis use of the pedals, I do wonder that, even with his surprisingagility, he had sufficient energy to manipulate the keys to thesatisfaction of so competent a witness as yourself."
"It was too bad; but we made up for it later," asserted the other."There was a young girl there who gave us some of Mendelssohn's Songswithout Words. Her expression was simply perfect. I wouldn't have missedit for all the world; and now that I think of it, in a few days I canlet you see for yourself how splendid it was. We persuaded her to encorethe songs in the dark, and we got a flash-light photograph of two ofthem."
"Oh! then it was not on the piano-forte she gave them?" said the Idiot.
"Oh no; all labial," returned the genial gentleman.
Here Mr. Whitechoker began to look concerned, and whispered something tothe School-master, who replied that there were enough others present tocope with the two parties to the conversation in case of a violentoutbreak.
"I'd be very glad to see the photographs," replied the Idiot. "Can't Isecure copies of them for my collection? You know I have the completerendering of 'Home, Sweet Home' in kodak views, as sung by Patti. Theyare simply wonderful, and they prove what has repeatedly been said bycritics, that, in the matter of expression, the superior of Patti hasnever been seen."
"I'll try to get them for you, though I doubt it can be done. The artistis a very shy young girl, and does not care to have her efforts giventoo great a publicity until she is ready to go into music a little moredeeply. She is going to read the 'Moonlight Sonata' to us at our nextconcert. You'd better come. I'm told her gestures bring out thecomposer's meaning in a manner never as yet equalled."
"'THE CORKS POPPED TO SOME PURPOSE LAST NIGHT'"]
"I'll be there; thank you," returned the Idiot. "And the next time thosefellows at the club are down for a pool tournament I want you to come upand hear them play. It was extraordinary last night to hear the ballsdropping one by one--click, click, click--as regularly as a metronome,into the pockets. One of the finest shots, I am sorry to say, I missed."
"How did it happen?" asked the Bibliomaniac. "Weren't your ears longenough?"
"It was a kiss shot, and I couldn't hear it," returned the Idiot.
"I think you men are crazy," said the School-master, unable to containhimself any longer.
"So?" observed the Idiot, calmly. "And how do we show our insanity?"
"Seeing concerts and hearing games of pool."
"I take exception to your ruling," returned the Imbiber. "As my friendthe Idiot has frequently remarked, you have the peculiarity of a greatmany men in your profession, who think because they never happened tosee or do or hear things as other people do, they may not be seen, done,or heard at all. I _saw_ the concert I attended last night. Our musicalclub has rooms next to a hospital, and we have to give silent concertsfor fear of disturbing the patients; but we are all musicians ofsufficient education to understand by a glance of the eye what you wouldfail to comprehend with fourteen ears and a microphone."
"Very well said," put in the Idiot, with a scornful glance at theSchool-master. "And I literally heard the pool tournament. I was diningin a room off the billiard-hall, and every shot that was made, with theexception of the one I spoke of, was distinctly audible. You gentlemen,who think you know it all, wouldn't be able to supply a bureau ofinformation at the rate of five minutes a day for an hour on a holiday.Let's go up-stairs," he added, turning to the Imbiber, "where we maydiscuss our last night's entertainment apart from this atmosphere ofrarefied learning. It makes me faint."
And the Imbiber, who was with difficulty keeping his lips in properform, was glad enough to accept the invitation. "The corks popped tosome purpose last night," he said, later on.
"Yes," said the Idiot; "for a conspiracy there's nothing so helpful aspopping corks."