'Yes, sir?'
'Play me the Chopin Fantasie, will you. I feel like it.'
'Certainly, sir,' said Simon, and paused. 'Which particular one do you desire me to render, sir?'
'There is only one, Shawn, for piano solo.'
'I beg pardon, sir.'
The gentle plashing of water mingled with the strains of one of the greatest of all musical compositions, as interpreted by Simon Shawn with the aid of an ingenious contrivance the patentees of which had spent twenty thousand pounds in advertising it.
'Very good, Shawn,' said Shawn's master, coming forward in his shirt-sleeves as the last echoes of a mighty chord expired under the dome. He meditatively stroked his graying beard while the pianist returned to the tea-tray.
'And, Shawn—'
'Yes, sir?'
'I want a hat.'