[[Listen]]
The phrase to which Billy Walker pointed was scrawled in a fashion that was rather slovenly as compared with the remainder of the manuscript. Hitherto, in spite of the many times he had studied the manuscript, Saxe had given small heed to this fragment of writing, which preceded the song of gold. Now, however, at his friend’s instigation, he examined it with scrupulous care before he spoke. Then, he shook his head in discouragement, as he struck the notes on the keyboard.
“It doesn’t mean anything, Billy,” he declared.
“But what’s it there for, if it doesn’t mean anything?” the other persisted.
“Why,” Saxe answered, “I suppose it’s simply that the old man had some sort of an idea, and jotted down a note concerning it. You see, it’s at the top of the page. He did nothing more with it. Afterward, he used the same sheet to write the gold song on. He was a miser, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Billy conceded. “All the same, I think, in this instance, he would have been comparatively extravagant. I still believe that the bit there has some significance.”
Saxe shook his head emphatically.
“It can’t mean anything,” he repeated, drearily. He was fast yielding to discouragement.
For a long minute the two were silent, regarding the manuscript intently, with knit brows. Then, of a sudden, Billy’s rough voice boomed forth a question:
“Aren’t there letters on a staff of music? What are the letters there?”