Beethoven!"

"Poor Beethoven. Come here, my poor maligned musical critic! Would
they give you a bad name and hang you? Now you must be very quiet.
Put your paws into those lovely long ears of yours if it gets too
horrible. You have been used to high-class music, I know, but this is
the sort of thing that England expects every man to do, so the sooner
you get used to it the better." He ran his fingers along the keys.
"There, Peter, he's growling already. I'm sure he'll start again, the
moment I strike the theme."

"Let him! We'll take it as a spaniel obligato."

"Oh, but his accompaniments are too staccato. He has no sense of time."

"Why don't you teach him, then, to wag his tail like the pendulum of a
metronome? He'd be more use to you that way than setting up to be a
musician, which Nature never meant him for--his hair's not long enough.
But go ahead, old man, Beethoven's behaving himself now."

Indeed, as if he were satisfied with his protest, the little beast
remained quiet, while his lord and master went through the piece. He
did not even interrupt at the refrain.

"Kiss me, good-night, dear love,
Dream of the old delight;
My spirit is summoned above,
Kiss me, dear love, good-night."

"I must say it's not so awful as I expected," said Lancelot candidly;
"it's not at all bad--for a waltz."

"There, you see!" said Peter eagerly; "the public are not such fools
after all."

"Still, the words are the most maudlin twaddle!" said Lancelot, as if
he found some consolation in the fact.

"Yes, but I didn't write _them_!" replied Peter quickly. Then he grew
red and laughed an embarrassed laugh. "I didn't mean to tell you, old
man. But there--the cat's out. That's what took me to Brahmson's that
afternoon we met! And I harmonised it myself, mind you, every
crotchet. I picked up enough at the Conservatoire for that. You know
lots of fellows only do the tune--they give out all the other work."

"So you are the great Keeley Lesterre, eh?" said Lancelot in amused
astonishment.

"Yes; I have to do it under another name. I don't want to grieve the
old man. You see, I promised him to reform, when he took me back to
his heart and business."

"Is that strictly honourable, Peter?" said Lancelot, shaking his head.

"Oh well! I couldn't give it up altogether, but I do practically stick
to the contract--it's all overtime, you know. It doesn't interfere a
bit with business. Besides, as