“A thousand of’em, my boy, a thousand of’em, but not just now. Listen to me. You want something I’ve got, and I want something you’ve got Very well. All England’s prosperity is based on just that position of things. Our commerce is founded on it. Our mutual country is great merely because she knows what she wants, and because she has something the other fellow wants, don’t you know! Now, I want a man who can play dance music, and I want him now--not to-morrow, or day after, or next week. You see what I mean? Good. You come in and polish us off some waltzes on the new piano; then, when it’s all over, I’ll let you have what you want, if it’s half my kingdom, as the story-books say. Then we will both be happy, don’t you know.” “I am organist at St. Martyrs church. I can’t----” “That’s all right. Don’t apologize. You can play the piano as well as the organ--I know that by the look of you. Come in, come in.” Barney triumphantly dragged the reluctant musician after him. “I’ve got him,” he cried, at which there was a clatter of applause and laughter. “Now, there,” said Barney jubilantly, seating Langly before the grand piano, with its great lid like a dragon’s wing propped up, “there’s all the sheet music any reasonable man can want; but if you prefer anything else I’ll send out for it; and there’s the piano--‘Come let us hear its tune,’ as the poet says.” The rugs which usually covered the waxed floor had been cleared away; the chairs had been shoved into corners and against the wall. There was much laughter and many protestations that they had not come prepared for a dance, but all were quite noticeably eager for the fun to begin. “You see, you are in Bohemia,” cried Barney, beaming joyously on his many guests, “and the delight of Bohemia is unconventionality. I danced after the theatre till daylight this morning, and I am as ready as ever to begin again. Shall we not lunch because we have breakfasted, and because we dine at seven? Not so. I am ready for a dance any time of the night or day. Now, Mr. Musician, strike up. ‘On with the dance, let joy be unconfined!’ as the poet says.” Langly could not have played out of time or tune if he tried. The piano, as Barney had truly said, was a splendid instrument, and when the gay waltz music filled the large room, each couple began to float lightly over the polished floor. The musician played on and on, mechanically yet brilliantly, and in the pauses between the dances more than one of the guests spoke to their host of the music’s excellence. “Oh, yes,” said Barney, with a jaunty wave of the hand, “he’s one of my finds. The man’s a genius, don’t you know, and is in music what I am myself in painting.” “Barney, you always lay it on too thick,” said one of the young men. “You’ll turn the pianist’s head with flattery, if he knows you consider him as clever as yourself.”