“I haven’t any music,” Max demurred.
“The Queen has all the music ever printed,” Billy exaggerated gayly, adding as he caught her scowl, “Miss Carter, alias Queen of Sheba.”
“I’m sure you’ll find something, Mr. Ball,” she urged.
“Here! Look it over!” Billy called, and with the familiarity of long tried friendship threw open the door of the cabinet.
“Here’s something I know,” Max said presently. “Who will play the accompaniment?” He looked around expectantly, trying to keep doubt out of his eyes; he was fastidious about that.
“Bess can play for you,” Billy volunteered.
“I’m afraid I can’t please you, but I’ll try if you wish.”
Bess and Max, belonging to the small clan of the really courteous, made no more excuses, but began at once a familiar number from one of the operas, Max standing so that he faced Bess partly and could watch her in the violin pauses.
At first he played tamely, a little hesitatingly; but he soon saw that Bess followed with fine discretion and sympathy, and he threw himself into the work with entire forgetfulness of everything else.