"Do you think you ought to—now? I don't think I want to hear a charge of the Uhlans—beasts; I want a charge of our own men."
"Art," I said grandly, "knows no frontiers." I suppose this has been said by several people several times already, but for the moment both Celia and I thought it was rather clever.
So I placed the roll in the pianola, sat down and began to play....
Ah, the dear old tune....
Dash it all!
"What's happened?" said Celia, breaking a silence which had become alarming.
"I must have put it in wrong," I said.
I wound the roll off, put it in again, and tried a second time, pedalling vigorously.
Dead silence....
Hush! A note ... another silence ... and then another note....