"Er—what order are the notes arranged in?" I asked.
"In strict alphabetical order," he answered. "A, B, C, and so on."
"You must excuse my asking the question," I went on, "but the fact is I've never seen a Steinbech before. I thought perhaps that different makers adopted different arrangements of the notes, as makers of typewriters do. Now, will this piano play Beethoven? I particularly want a piano that will play the 'Moonlight' and the 'Waldstein.'"
"You're not thinking of a pianola, Sir, are you?"
"No," I replied, "I am not. I have no sympathy with music that looks like a Gruyère cheese. The music I want my piano to play is the ordinary printed kind—black-currants and stalks and that sort of thing."
"Well, Sir, you will find that this piano is specially adapted for playing all kinds of printed music. Music in manuscript may also be rendered upon it."
"That's one point settled then," I said. "Now, if you will kindly prize the lid off, I should like to look at the works."
He lifted the lid and propped it up with a short billiard-cue which fitted into a notch. All danger of sudden decapitation having been removed, I put my head inside.
"Hallo!" I cried. "What's this harp doing in here? Doesn't it get in the way?"
"That is not a harp, Sir; that is part of the mechanism—the wires, you know."