Frank chuckled with satisfaction. It was a new experience for Diamond, and Merriwell was enjoying it as one always enjoys introducing his friends to something new and novel.
“My dear fellow,” whispered Frank, “I fear your ear is not educated to appreciate the beauties of Chinese music.”
“Music! music! Why, a boiler factory in full blast makes better music than this!”
“You are prejudiced. It is a fact that their music is based on ah established scale and a scientific theory.”
“Oh, come! that’s too much! Why, see, those players have no leader, and every man is going it alone for himself. It is exactly the same as if every person in one of our orchestras should play a different tune than anybody else and all play at the same time—only I don’t believe these heathens are playing tunes at all. They are just hammering, and tooting, and sawing away, and letting it go at that.”
“It does seem so,” confessed Frank, “although at certain points they all come together with a grand burst, like sprinters making a dash.”
Jack’s hand dropped on Frank’s wrist.
“Look!” he excitedly whispered, pointing to a Chinaman who had risen amid the spectators at a short distance. “What is that fellow going to do? I saw him conceal a knife in his sleeve.”
“And he acts as if he meant to use it on some one,” said Frank, made suspicious by the fellow’s manner. “That’s exactly what he is up to!”
But the Chinaman did not succeed in his purpose, for a stout youth suddenly arose from a seat and gave the heathen a terrific crack on the jaw, knocking him down in a twinkling.