He was nervous and out of temper, and began stepping out. Then suddenly he stopped and said:
“I'll do it. Lend me that pipe of yours again. I won't light it.”
We walked up the hill, Falkenberg putting on mighty airs, pointing this way and that with the pipe and criticizing the place. It annoyed me somewhat to see him stalking along in that vainglorious fashion while I carried the load. I said:
“Going to be a piano-tuner this time?”
“I think I've shown I can tune a piano,” he said shortly. “I am good for that at any rate.”
“But suppose there's some one in the house knows all about it—Fruen, for instance—and tries the piano after you've done?”
Falkenberg was silent. I could see he was growing doubtful again. Little by little his lordly gait sank to a slouching walk.
“Perhaps we'd better not,” he said. “Here, take your pipe. We'll just go up and simply ask for work.”