settled once again to listen in gloomy silence. Their
dignified preceptor continued.

"And now, gentlemen of the Brahms Institute, I hasten to inform you that
the examining committee is without, and is presently to be admitted. Let
me conjure you to keep your heads; let me beg of you to do yourself
justice. Surely, after five years of constant, sincere, and earnest
study you will not backslide, you will not, in the language of the great
Matthewson, make any muffs." Professor Quelson looked about him and
beamed benignly. He had made a delicate joke, and it was not lost, for
most sonorously the class chanted, "He's a jolly good fellow," and in
modern harmonies. Their professor looked gratified and bowed. Then he
tapped a bell, which sounded the triad of B flat minor, and the doors at
the eastern end of the hall parted asunder, and the examining committee
solemnly entered.

It was an august looking gang. Two music-critics from four of the
largest cities of the country comprised the board of examination, with a
president selected by common vote. This president was the distinguished
pianist and literator, Dr. Larry Nopkin, and his sarcastic glare at the
pupils gave every man the nervous shivers. Funereally the nine men filed
by and took their seats on the platform, Dr. Nopkin occupying with Mr.
Quelson the dais, on which stood a grand piano.

There was a brief pause, but pregnant with anxiety. Mr. Quelson, all
smiles, handed Dr. Nopkin a long list of names, and the committee fanned
itself and thought of the _Tannhaeuser-Busch Overture_ which it had
listened to so attentively in the Wagner coaches that brought it to
Brahms Institute.

The only man of the party who seemed out of humor was Mr. Blink, who
grumbled to his neighbor that the name of the college was in bad taste.
It should have been called the Chopin Retreat or the Paderewski Home,
but Brahms--pooh!

Dr. Nopkin arose, put on a pair of ponderous spectacles, and grinned
malevolently at his hearers.

"Young men," he squeakily said, "I want to begin with a story. Once
upon a time a certain young man, full of the conviction that he was a
second Liszt, sought out Thalberg, when that great pianist--"

"Great pianist!" whispered Blink, sardonically.

"Yes, I said great pianist--greater than all your Paderewski's, your--"

"I protest, Mr. President," said Mr. Blink, rising to his feet; at the
same time a pink flush rose to his cheek. "I protest. We have not come