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irely mechanical, instead of emotional. It is perfect, but, like most of our other arts, it is almost completely without feeling." "But your statues are wonderful!" "As I told you, those statues were made myriads of years ago. At that time we also had real music, but, unlike statuary, music at that time could not be preserved for posterity. That is another thing you have given us. Attend!" At one end of the room, as upon a three-dimensional screen, the four Terrestrials saw themselves seated in the control-room of the _Skylark_. They saw and heard Margaret take up her guitar, and strike four sonorous chords in "A." Then, as if they had been there in person, they heard themselves sing "The Bull-Frog" and all the other songs they had sung, far off in space. They heard Margaret suggest that Dorothy play some "real music," and heard Seaton's comments upon the quartette. "In that, youngster, you were entirely wrong," said Orlon, stopping the reproduction for a moment. "The entire planet was listening to you very attentively--we were enjoying it as no music has been enjoyed for thousands of years." "The whole planet!" gasped Margaret. "Were you broadcasting it? How could you?" "Easy," grinned Seaton. "They can do most anything with these rays of theirs." "When you have time, in some period of labor, we would appreciate it very much if you four would sing for us again, would give us more of your vast store of youthful music, for we can now preserve it exactly as it is sung. But much as we enjoyed the quartette, Mrs. Seaton, it was your work upon the violin that took us by storm. Beginning with tomorrow, my companion intends to have you spend as many periods as you will, playing for our records. We shall now have your music." "If you like it so well, wouldn't you rather I'd play you something I hadn't played before?" "That is labor. We could not...." "Piffle!" Dorothy interrupted. "Don't you see that I could really play right now, with somebody to listen, who really enjoys music; whereas, if I tried to play in front of a record, I'd be perfectly mechanical?" "'At-a-girl, Dot! I'll get your fiddle." "Keep your seat, son," instructed Orlon, as the case containing the Stradivarius appeared before Dorothy, borne by a pencil of force. "While that temperament is incomprehensible to every one of us, it is undoubtedly true that the artistic mind does work in that manner. We listen." Dorothy swept into "Th
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