"No," said John.
"No! Of course not! No one can understand it. It is genius! It will be played at all the great concerts. The critics will write columns in praise of it. Some folks can understand Vogner a little. No one can understand me at all! I am wonderful! I am superb!"
"Well," said John, "I'm not a judge. It seemed to me like awful discord."
The musician threw himself upon his knees and burst into tears.
"Thank you, my friend!—my dear friend!" said he, between the sobs. "Such praise gladdens my heart and makes me very happy! Ah! glorious moment, in which I produce music that is not understood and sounds like discord!"
John left the musician still shedding tears of happiness, and walked to his room.
"The people of this island are certainly peculiar," he reflected; "and I am very glad indeed that I am an ordinary gingerbread man, and not a crank."
He found the bald-headed inventor of the power of repulsion awaiting him in the room.