“Hum!” A pause. Then, “Say, Lexow—”
“Well?”
“It isn’t possible that it’s original, is it?”
“Original? How do you mean?”
“Why, an improvisation—a little thing of your own.”
“Oh, no; oh, no, I never improvise—at least an entire composition, like that. Nobody does. It bears all the marks of careful workmanship. It must be something well-known that has temporarily slipped from my memory. It’s too striking not to be well-known. Tomorrow I’ll go through my music and find it; and I’ll wager it will turn out to be quite familiar. Only, it’s extremely odd that I can’t place it.”
“Why wait till to-morrow?”
“Why, we can’t begin to-night, can we?”
“Why not? I say, let’s begin right off. The cursed thing is keeping us awake, and there doesn’t seem to be any escape from it. We may as well utilize our wakefulness, as lie here doing nothing but toss about. I say, let’s light the gas and go to work.”
“Oh, well, I’m agreeable. The sooner the better as far as I’m concerned.”