Walter blushed a little while the professor transfixed him with his glittering eye. He anxiously hoped that he would bear inspection.
“Humph! I think you'll do. How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
In fact, Walter's birthday had been passed in Chicago.
“You are rather young. Can you play on the violin?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let me hear you.”
The professor pointed to a violin on the bed.
“I am glad he doesn't expect me to furnish the violin,” Walter said to himself.
He took the instrument from its case, and trying the strings began to play a series of familiar airs. The violin was not a Stradivarius, but it was of good quality, and responded satisfactorily to the efforts of the young musician. Professor Robinson listened attentively, and nodded his approval.