There was one particular pleasure to which John always looked forward--that was Lindon's playing. There was a magic quality in it which held them spellbound; even Vernley admitted that Lindon knew his way about on the piano. The pianist would sit down in front of the keyboard, wait for the preparatory hush which he commanded as a brilliant performer, run his fingers up and down the keys once or twice as if making their acquaintance, and then begin. Sometimes it was Beethoven he played. John never forgot the thrill that ran down his spine when he heard the _Pathetique_ for the first time. Its great soulful chords crashed through him, echoing along his brain like thunder in a valley. But on this particular evening, Lindon was in a more festive mood. He had won glory on the field that afternoon; his swiftness, his quick decision had brought victory to his house, and some of the seriousness which usually invested his manner was forgotten. It was the last Saturday night of term. The examinations were nearly over. The holiday spirit already made the school restive. So Lindon was in good spirits. He chose Chopin, and sent the melodies rippling from beneath his wonderful fingers. John, completely fascinated, stood leaning on the flat top of the grand, it being his duty to turn over the music when the demi-god nodded. Lindon started off with the _Valse Brilliante_ in four flats. It was hackneyed, but not so to John who listened while the magic movement seemed to lift him up with ecstasy. Then the pianist played _Op._ 64--he seemed scarcely to touch the keys, for they whirred just like the wind blowing through a leafy tree. It was the speed, the superb vivacity of it all that entranced John. Now they were butterflies dancing rapturously, now a spinning wheel. Here was something that reached an eloquence beyond words, a joy greater than anything he had ever known. When Lindon ceased, John's eyes were sparkling with intense delight. The pianist, seeing his pleasure, laughed lightly. The applause he did not appear to notice; it was John's boyish approval which he looked for and found at the conclusion of each piece. How long Lindon sat at the keyboard John had no idea. His ecstasy was suddenly shattered by the performer who said, "Only one more, Scissors, then you can sit down."