"I used to SEE him--with Bertram."
"Oh! Well, he WAS one of them, unfortunately. But Bertram shipped him
years ago."
Billy gave a sudden radiant smile--but she changed the subject at once.
"And Mr. William still collects, I suppose," she observed.
"Jove! I should say he did! I've forgotten the latest; but he's a fine
fellow, too, like Bertram."
"And--Mr. Cyril?"
Calderwell frowned.
"That chap's a poser for me, Billy, and no mistake. I can't make him
out!"
"What's the matter?"
"I don't know. Probably I'm not 'tuned to his pitch.' Bertram told me
once that Cyril was very sensitively strung, and never responded until
a certain note was struck. Well, I haven't ever found that note, I
reckon."
Billy laughed.
"I never heard Bertram say that, but I think I know what he means; and
he's right, too. I begin to realize now what a jangling discord I must
have created when I tried to harmonize with him three years ago! But
what is he doing in his music?"
The other shrugged his shoulders.
"Same thing. Plays occasionally, and plays well, too; but he's so
erratic it's difficult to get him to do it. Everything must be just so,
you know--air, light, piano, and audience. He's got another book out,
I'm told--a profound treatise on somebody's something or other--musical,
of course."
"And he used to write music; doesn't he do that any more?"
"I believe so.
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