"Hold on," he said. "What's your hurry?" Sarcastically. "Didn't know I was in a hurry!" There was no attempted levity in his tone,--he spoke rather listlessly, as one who had found the world, or its problems, slightly wearisome. The composer-publisher now arose; a new thought had suddenly assailed him. "You say you are looking for work. Why did you drift in here?" "The place looked small. Those big places have no end of applicants--" "Shouldn't think that would phase you. With _your_ nerve!" The visitor flushed. "I seem to have made rather a mess of it," he confessed. "I usually do. Good day." "A moment!" said Mr. Mackintosh. "One of my men"--he emphasized "one," as if their number were legion--"disappointed me this morning. I expect he's in the lockup by this time. Have you got a voice?" "A what?" "Can you sing?" "I really don't know; haven't ever tried, since"--a wonderful retrospection in his tones--"since I was a little chap in church and wore white robes." "Huh!" ejaculated the proprietor of the Saint Cecilia shop. "Mama's angel boy! That must have been a long time ago." The visitor did not answer; he pushed back uncertainly the uncertain lock of dark hair and seemed almost to have forgotten the object of his visit. "Now see here"--Mr. Mackintosh's voice became purposeful, energetic; he seated himself before a piano that looked as if it had led a hard nomadic existence. "Now see here!" Striking a few chords. "Suppose you try this stunt! _What's the Matter with Mother_? My own composition! Kerry Mackintosh at his best! Now twitter away, if you've any of that angel voice left!" The piano rattled; the new-comer, with a certain faint whimsical smile as if he appreciated the humor of his position, did "twitter away"; loud sounds filled the place. Quality might be lacking but of quantity there was a-plenty. "Bully!" cried Mr. Mackintosh enthusiastically. "That'll start the tears rolling. _What's the Matter with Mother_? Nothing's the matter with mother. And if any one says there is--Will it go? With that voice?" He clapped his hand on the other's shoulder. "Why, man, they could hear you across Madison Square. You've a voice like an organ. Is it a 'go'?" he demanded. "I don't think I quite understand," said the new-comer patiently. "You don't, eh? Look there!"