"I know very little of him," returned the mistress of the house; "only that he is a Frankish gentleman, who dresses sometimes as a Turk, and has lately come to lodge here."
"He is a dog, and the son of a dog! May his flute choke him, and his father's grave be defiled!" growled the irascible Turk, "tell him to leave off, or I will kill him and burn his flute."
The landlady went at once and tapped at the door of the musical lodger.
There was no response save the too-too-too of the flute.
"Signor!" she called after a moment.
"What's the matter?" inquired Mr. Figgins from within; "do you wish me to come and play you a tune?" and he then continued "too-too, tooty-too."
"The gentleman in the next room objects to the sound of your flute."
"Does he?—tooty-too, tooty-too."
"Yes; and he begs you'll leave off."
"I shan't!—tooty-tum, tooty-tum, tooty-too. I intend to play all night."