“Well?” he snapped, and I was glad to leave the business to Leslie, who stood up and spoke.
“Signor Paggi,” she said, “we have been sent here, because in America you are regarded as the most marvelous person—”
“I do not make fools play,” he broke in, “You remember that! You have appointment?”
“Yes,” Leslie answered, and with a good deal of resentment in her tone, “I told your office girl, but she—in a manner I must, in fairness to your interests, Signor Paggi, tell you was insolent—told me—”
“Very good secretary,” (he again interrupted) “I can get many pupils, but only in my life once have I found the good secretary. Come in—”
And, silent, we followed him.
The room was large and almost empty. It had a bench in it, a table on which was some music, a piano, and near that the chair that Signor Paggi sat in when he wasn’t too agitated to sit.
“You first,” he said, almost before we had crossed the threshold, and he pointed at me. I went to the piano and sat down. “Well, play!” he barked and I think I played something of MacDowell’s.
“Stop!” I heard. I stopped.
“What do you see?”