"With Madam L. and some other renowned vocalist, he was giving concerts, when one day their pianist was taken suddenly sick. Madam was in great trepidation. [Illustration: THE MUSICAL DOCTOR.] "'What shall I do? The concert cannot be postponed, and we cannot sing unless we have an accompaniment,' exclaimed the lady. "I looked about, made some inquiry,--it was in a small town,--but no competent piano player could be found. "'We must abandon the concert,' I said, which seemed inevitable, when there came a sharp knock at the door. "'Come in,' I called. "The door opened, and instead of a servant, as I had expected, there appeared a tall, stout specimen of the _genus homo_, with large black eyes, and long, dark hair flowing down on to his shoulders, making his best bow, and what he doubtless intended as his sweetest smile. "I offered him a chair, and inquired how I could serve him. "'You want a piano player?' "'Yes.' "'Well, I will undertake to assist you in your strait. Allow me to see your programme,' he continued, very patronizingly, waiting for us to make no reply whatever. "'Are you--that is, do you play rapidly, and at sight?' asked madam. "He replied only by a gesture, a sort of pitiful contempt for the ignorance of any person who should ask _him_ such a question.... "Half past seven came, and we went on the stage. I do not know what the fellow's prelude was; I was otherwise engaged; but his accompaniments were made up, and after he had heard the note sung to which he should have accompanied,--O, it was a horrid jargon, a consecutive blast of discords, a tempest of incomprehensibleness. [Illustration: ENTHUSIASM.] "Madam caught her breath at the first pausing-place, and signalled him to stop. He took a side glance at her, misinterpreted her, and played on the louder. It became ludicrous in the extreme. He played the minor strains, or what should have been minor, in the major key. He only stopped when he saw us leave the stage. The audience cheered. He took it all as a compliment to himself as a pianist, stopped, and made his most profound obeisance to the house. They laughed and cheered the harder. He mistook it for an _encore_, bowed again, and returned to the piano. Then the house came down. They stamped, they laughed, they shouted. The boys in the gallery cat-called; the building fairly shook. I ran back to see what it was all about, and there was the pianist (?) beating furiously at the keys, the perspiration pouring in streams from his face. But his playing could only be _seen_ to be appreciated; it could not be heard for the stamping of the audience. He finally desisted, and with repeated halts and smiles, he bowed himself off the stage. "His grand _debut_ and retirement upon the stage occurred the same night. Madam would not permit him to go on again, and we sang the duets from ---- without accompaniment. I think the fellow knew nothing of music; he had 'cheeked' it right through.