"Siegfried," said his father, "tell zee gentlemens vot you to be already intend."
The little chap smiled, but without self-consciousness. "A conducthtor," he lisped, "like Herr Nikith."
Klotz crossed his hands upon his ample waistcoat and beamed paternally.
"Your baton bring," he said, "und der score Tristan."
With profuse apologies for this display of juvenile precocity, the violinist hurried after the boy, and reëntered a moment later with his violin and a music-stand, which he proceeded to set up.
Siegfried followed close on his heels with the full orchestral score of the last act of Tristan and Isolde, which almost obscured him from sight. Placing it on the stand, he retired in a dignified manner; and Herr Klotz, taking a chair, seated himself at the left of the stand, and proceeded to tune his fiddle to pitch, varying the proceedings with imitations of French-horns, vagrant clarionets, and irresponsible trombones in the mélange of discord which always precedes the entrance of the conductor. Norman, who had been enjoying the scene to the full, suddenly rose to his feet.
"Herr Klotz," he said sternly, "I protest."
The tuning ceased, and the violinist looked anxiously at his guest. "You do not like dis, zumtimes?" he faltered.
"I object," cried Basil, "to being left out.—Herr Siegfried!" He raised his voice. "Herr Siegfried!"
The little chap walked solemnly in, a baton in his hand. "Yeth?" he said.