DOMINIE.  Well, yes! perhaps something more than pretty well.  We are in earnest about music.

MADAME, of the Tz. family (envious because Cecilia received applause for her public performance yesterday, and because Mr. Buffalo had been unable to bring out Stock,—­all in one breath).  When did your daughter begin to play?  Just how old is she now?  Does she like playing?  They say you are very strict, and tie your daughters to the piano-stool.  How many hours a day do you make her practise?  Don’t you make her exert herself too much?  Has she talent?  Isn’t she sickly?

DOMINIE.  Don’t you think she looks in good health, madam,—­tall and strong for her years?

MADAME, of the Tz. family.  But perhaps she might look more cheerful, if she was not obliged to play on the piano so much.

DOMINIE (bowing).  I can’t exactly say.

ZACH (suddenly interrupting, and holding Dominie by the button-hole).  They say you torment and ill-treat your daughters dreadfully; that the eldest was obliged to practise day and night.  Well, you shall hear my Stock play this evening, who, some time, by the grace of God, is to take the place of Thalberg in the world.  Now give me your opinion freely (of course, I was only to praise):  we should like very much to hear what you think about his playing, though perhaps Mr. Buffalo may not agree with you.

     (Mr. Buffalo is looking through the music-case and picking out all
     the Etudes, by listening to which Dominie is to earn his supper.)

DOMINIE (resigned and foreseeing that he shall be bored).  I have heard a great deal of the industry of your son, Stock.  What are you studying now, Mr. Stock?

STOCK (in proud self-consciousness, rather Sophomoric).  I play six hours a day, two hours scales with both hands together, and four hours Etudes.  I have already gone through the first book of Clementi and four books of Cramer.  Now I am in the Gradus ad Parnassum:  I have already studied the right fingering for it.

DOMINIE.  Indeed, you are very much in earnest:  that speaks well for you, and for Mr. Buffalo.  But what pieces are you studying with the Etudes?  Hummel, Mendelssohn, Chopin, or Schumann?

STOCK (contemptuously).  Mr. Buffalo can’t bear Chopin and Schumann.  Mr. Buffalo lately played through Schumann’s “Kinderscenen,” that people are making such a talk about.  My mamma, who is also musical, and used to sing when papa played the flute, said, “What ridiculous little things are those?  Are they waltzes for children? and then the babyish names for them!  He may play such stuff to his wife, but not to us.”

DOMINIE.  Well, these “Kinderscenen” are curious little bits for grown-up men’s hands.  Your mother is right, they are too short:  there certainly ought to be more of them.  But they are not waltzes!

STOCK.  Indeed, I am not allowed to play waltzes at all.  My teacher is very thorough:  first, I shall have to dig through all the Gradus ad Parnassum; and then he is going to undertake a concerto of Beethoven’s with me, and will write the proper fingering over it.  I shall play that in public; and then, as he and my aunt say, “I shall be the death of you all.”