tica, Mr Loring, up in
the village?' Mr Colclough addressed me. He had surrendered to the
stronger will.

'In London?' I said. 'No. But I've heard of it.'

'Bob and I heard it in Manchester last week, and we thought it 'ud be a
bit of a lark to buy the arrangement for pianoforte duet.'

'Come and listen to it,' said Mr Brindley. 'That is, if nobody wants
any more beer.'

IV

The drawing-room was about twice as large as the dining-room, and it
contained about four times as much furniture. Once again there were
books all round the walls. A grand piano, covered with music, stood in
a corner, and behind was a cabinet full of bound music.

Mr Brindley, seated on one corner of the bench in front of the piano,
cut the leaves of the Sinfonia Domestica.

'It's the devil!' he observed.

'Aye, lad!' agreed Mr Colclough, standing over him. 'It's difficult.'

'Come on,' said Mr. Brindley, when he had finished cutting.

'Better take your dust-coat off, hadn't you?' Mrs Brindley suggested to
the friend. She and I were side by side on a sofa at the other end of
the room.

'I may as well,' Mr Colclough admitted, and threw the long garment on
to a chair. 'Look here, Bob, my hands are stiff with steering.'

'Don't find fault with your tools,' said Mr Brindley; 'and sit down.
No, my boy, I'm going to play the top part. Shove along.'

'I want to play the top part because it's easiest,' Mr Colclough
grumbled.

'How often have I told you the top part is never easiest? Who do you
suppose is going to keep this symphony together--you or me?'

'Sorry I spoke.'

They arranged themselves on the bench, and Mr Brindley turned up the
lower corners of every alternate leaf of the music.

'Now,' said he. 'Ready?'

'Let her zip,' said Mr Colclough.

They began to play. And then the door opened, and a servant, whose
white apron was starched as stiff as cardboard, came in carrying a tray
of coffee and unholy liqueurs, which she deposited with a rattle on a
small table near the hostess.

'Curse!' muttered Mr Brindley, and stopped.

'Life's very complex, ain't it, Bob?' Mr Colclough murmured.

'Aye, lad.' The host glanced round to make sure that the rattling
servant had entirely gone. 'Now start again.'

'Wait a minute, wait a minute!' cried Mrs Brindley excitedly. 'I'm just
pouring out Mr Loring's coffee. There!' As she handed me the cup she
whispered, 'We daren't talk. It's more than our place is worth.'

The performa