“Gosh!” he exclaimed, as Isobel closed on the last startlingly unexpected note, “that’s where some feller planks his strawr hat on a beauty butterfly!”
Covered with confusion at his outburst, Moses sank into his chair and remained silent till Mr. Crump, by adroit conversation, caused him to once again lose his self-consciousness. He called Moses’ attention to a few musical instruments in the corner of the room and led him over to view them more closely.
Mr. Crump indulged in an unusual hobby, the collection of old musical instruments, and a motley group it was that Moses eyed with growing wonder.
“This here thing looks like a mule with his ribs druv in an’ stan’in’ on his haunches. What d’ye call it?”
“That’s a string bass.”
“An orful good-natured tied-in-at-the-waist critter, aint it?” commented Moses.
“This is a lyre, very old,” said Mr. Crump, handling an ancient instrument tenderly. Moses looked up suddenly, he hoped nothing he had said called forth the remark.
“This is a xylophone, take this little wooden hammer and play a few notes.” Moses took the hammer held out to him and striking a wooden bar brought out a weird but sweet sound. He struck several bars in succession and was enraptured to find that they produced a sort of veiled silvery music. “Sounds like the moon looks when you carnt see it fer clouds,” he mused, “Mar thinks I’d make a moosican, mebbe she’s right.”
“Did Clarence show you the sights of the city this morning?” asked Mr. Crump, trying to repress a smile.
“Yeh, we went to the shootin’ gallery, an’ the amuseum, an’ got inter a little square cage an’ shot away up to the top of an orful high buildin’ an’ got a sparrer’s eye view of the city.”