The Tenor took up his violin, and examined it. "Where did you study?" he asked.
"Everywhere," was the ungraciously vague reply.
"I wish you would play again," the Tenor said, taking no notice of his ill-humour. "It would be a rare treat for a hermit like me."
"No," was the blunt rejoinder. "I don't want to make music. I want to explore."
"Well, make yourself at home," the Tenor said, humouring him good-naturedly.
"Make me at home," the Boy replied. "Confidential relations, you know. You may smoke if you like."
"Oh, thank you," the Tenor answered politely, sitting down in his easy-chair, from which he had risen to look at the violin, and taking up his pipe again.
The Boy was rummaging about now, and, finding much to interest him, he presently recovered his temper, and began to banter his host. But even this outlet was scarcely sufficient for his superfluous life and energy, so he emphasized his remarks by throwing a stray cushion or two at the Tenor; he jumped over the chairs instead of walking round them, and performed an occasional pas seul, or pirouette, in various parts of the room. When these innocent amusements palled upon him, he took up his violin and played a plaintive air, to which he chanted:
"There was a merry dromedary
Waltzing on the plain;
Dromedary waltzing, dromedary prancing.
And all the people said, it is a sign of rain,
When they saw the good beast dancing;"
executing grotesque steps himself at the same time in illustration.