ish syncopation!" thought poor Von Barwig mechanically, as he
looked at the individual from whom issued the voice that sounded so
like the bellowing of a bull.

The owner of this extraordinary vocal organ was a big, fat,
florid-faced individual with a dark, bluish-red complexion. He wore a
flaring diamond ring around a glaring red necktie; and a loud checked
suit that matched his voice perfectly. In fact, his whole make-up
harmonised remarkably with the unearthly noise that issued from his
throat. He was standing before a flashy-fronted building, on which was
painted in large yellow letters, intended to be gold, the legend "Dime
Museum." In the front entrance were several cheap wax figures of a
theatrical nature, and some still cheaper scenes, showing the figure of
a nude savage without arms, biting the head off a huge fish and eating
it alive apparently. On the canvas were also painted pictures of a
wild man from Borneo, a tattooed man, a skeleton, numerous fat ladies,
mermaids, sylphs, and fauns; the whole forming a group of pictures and
figures calculated to arrest the attention of the passers-by and
attract them into the "theatretorium," as he of the loud voice called
it.

It was not the paintings that caught Von Barwig's attention; it was the
voice that offended his sensitive ear. He looked at the man in
astonishment; never in his life had he heard such an utter lack of
music in a human voice, such volume of tone, such a surplusage of
quantity and an absence of quality. Barwig was fascinated and wondered
how it could be possible. At this moment he caught the man's eye, and
then a strange thing happened. The man stopped roaring, and, looking
over at Von Barwig, in a more natural tone called out:

"Say, professor, I want to see you."

"Are you speaking to me?" said Von Barwig; his voice faltering.

"Yes," replied the showman, "that's just what I am." Coming over to
Von Barwig he took him by the arm and led him almost by force into the
entrance of the Museum. "Say, professor," he asked, "how would you
like a job?"

"A job?" Von Barwig repeated helplessly, trying to realise the meaning
of the man's words.

"A job; yes, to be sure. Can you thump the ivories?"

"Thump the ivories?" Von Barwig looked so mystified that the man
volunteered an explanation.

"Play the pianner," and suiting the action to the word he perforated
the air with ten large fingers.

"I play--yes. I--I play a little--not wel