"What's a musicker?" asked Dorothy.
"Him!" said the boy.
Hearing this the fat man sat up a little stiffer than before, as if he had received a compliment, and still came the sounds:
Tiddle-widdle-iddle, oom pom-pom,
Oom pom-pom, oom——
"Stop it!" cried the shaggy man, earnestly. "Stop that dreadful noise!"
The fat man looked at him sadly and began his reply. When he spoke the music changed and the words seemed to accompany the notes. He said—or rather sang:
It isn't a noise that you hear,
But Music, harmonic and clear.
My breath makes me play
Like an organ, all day—
That bass note is in my left ear.
"How funny!" exclaimed Dorothy; "he says his breath makes the music."
"That's all nonsense," declared the shaggy man; but now the music began again, and they all listened carefully.
My lungs are full of reeds like those
In organs, therefore I suppose,
If I breathe in or out my nose,
The reeds are bound to play.