"I like that," he broke off at last. "There is quite an idea in it—well worked out too; don't you think so?"
"What is the thing?" the Tenor asked. "Who wrote it?"
"I wrote it myself," said the Boy.
The Tenor roused himself, and got out the oars, but sat resting on them with a far-away look in his dreamy eyes. He was bareheaded, and the moon played on his yellow hair, making it shine; a detail which did not escape the Boy, whose pleasure in the Tenor's beauty never tired.
"I didn't know you were a poet as well as a musician," the latter said at last.
"Ah! you have much to learn," the Boy answered complacently, then added—"I am extremely versatile."
"Jack of all trades," said the Tenor.
"Now, don't be coarse," said the Boy.
"Well, I hope that is not the best specimen of your powers in that line," the Tenor drily pursued.
"By no means," was the candid rejoinder; "but the most appropriate, seeing that I just made it for the occasion, which is not a great occasion, don't you know."