"Sometimes," Paul remarked, "people are afraid he'll upset things; he's so large, you know.... But it wouldn't be easy to upset things here. Would you mind telling me why you kept playing that funny tune? Do you think it's pretty?"
"Tune?" the man repeated. "When?"
"Just a minute ago—ever since I came in, and outside. I heard you; it's what made me come. I couldn't think what it was."
"Can you read?" asked the man.
"Read!" Paul exclaimed. "I should think so; years and years ago."
The man handed him one of the pages he had been playing.
"That's what I was doing," he said.
"Why, it's print!" cried Paul.
"Exactly; nicer than hand-writing, isn't it?"
Paul's quick eyes devoured the page.