“How much do you reckon the stove is going to cost you?” I asked. I felt interested in the subject.
“I don’t know,” answered Harris; “another twenty, I suppose. Then we talked about the piano. Could you ever notice,” said Harris, “any difference between one piano and another?”
“Some of them seem to be a bit louder than others,” I answered; “but one gets used to that.”
“Ours is all wrong about the treble,” said Harris. “By the way, what is the treble?”
“It’s the shrill end of the thing,” I explained; “the part that sounds as if you’d trod on its tail. The brilliant selections always end up with a flourish on it.”
“They want more of it,” said Harris; “our old one hasn’t got enough of it. I’ll have to put it in the nursery, and get a new one for the drawing-room.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
“No,” said Harris; “she didn’t seem able to think of anything else.”
“You’ll find when you get home,” I said, “she has thought of one other thing.”
“What’s that?” said Harris.