"But, dear heavens!" cried Angelo. "It is not his playing! One could pick up fifty better violinists in the street. It is the concerto—the composition."
Mr. Chase rose slowly to his feet. "Do you mean to tell me that Geoffrey made up all that himself?"
"Of course. Didn't you know?"
"Will you play it again?"
Gladly they assented. When it was over he took Angelo out into the passage.
"I'm not one of those narrow-minded people who don't believe in art, Mr. Fardetti," said he. "And Geoff has already shown me that he can't sell seeds for toffee. But if he takes up music, will he be able to earn his living at it?"
"Beyond doubt," replied Angelo, with a wide gesture.
"But a good living? You'll forgive me being personal, Mr. Fardetti, but you yourself——"
"I," said the old man humbly, "am only a poor fiddler—but your son is a great musical genius."
"I'll think over it," said Mr. Chase.