Finally, with much coaxing and a little oil, he got it to give forth an anæmic interpretation of "The Keel Row." Then it gurgled, slowed down and gave up the struggle, in consequence of which Charley made further incursions into its interior.
Becoming accustomed to the thought of Aunt Anne's legacy being subjected to the profanation of screw-driver and oil-bottle, Bindle sat down by the window, and proceeded to exchange confidences with Millie, who had made it clear to him that her aunt and son were to be left to their tête-à-tête undisturbed.
The conversation between uncle and niece was punctuated by snatches from "The Keel Row," as Charley was successful in getting the sluggish mechanism of Dumb Abraham into temporary motion.
Occasionally he would give expression to a hiss or murmur of impatience, and Millie would smile across at him an intimate little smile of sympathy.
Suddenly, gaunt tragedy stalked into the room.
Crash!
"My Gawd!"
"Oh, Charley!"
"Damn!"
And Poor Aunt Anne's musical-box lay on the floor, a ruin of splintered glass.