Loud shouts, of varied sentiment, followed this daring speech.
"A moment, please," cried the Doctor; "as Treasurer of this Musical Society I may state that our financial condition is not so satisfactory as it might be: if this competition gets wind—I mean, of course, if people get to know of it, we shall have an enormous house."
After some disputing, it was agreed that there was cogency in the Doctor's suggestion.
Other members were appeased with situations in the programme more or less prominent, but when the twenty-four items had been satisfactorily arranged, and the club separated, the general feeling was that the interest of the concert, and the stake at issue, were the competitive performances of Messrs. Puffin and Gasper.
The evening of the concert arrived: so did Doctor Martel at my rooms: the little man was suffused with delight.
"My dear fellow!" he chuckled, "it'll be the funniest thing you ever saw. I've been running to and fro all the week. Now to Gasper, now to Puffin. 'You should hear Puffin phrase that passage about the 'wind moaning,' said I to Gasper, 'it's tiptop,' and Gasper grinds his teeth. Then I go to Puffin and say, 'Gasper's devoting himself to making a hit, old man; the way he imitates the surge of the wave in the passage 'The wild wave answers the winds,' will 'fetch' them, and no mistake!' and Puffin turns pale."
"What does it all portend?" asked I.
"Wait and see, my lad," said the sly Doctor. "Wait and see."
Eight o'clock! and I meet Puffin as I enter the "Artists' Room." I play the violino secondo. I am nobody.