“It was too bad; but we made up for it later,” asserted the other.  “There was a young girl there who gave us some of Mendelssohn’s Songs without Words.  Her expression was simply perfect.  I wouldn’t have missed it for all the world; and now that I think of it, in a few days I can let you see for yourself how splendid it was.  We persuaded her to encore the songs in the dark, and we got a flash-light photograph of two of them.”

“Oh! then it was not on the piano-forte she gave them?” said the Idiot.

“Oh no; all labial,” returned the genial gentleman.

Here Mr. Whitechoker began to look concerned, and whispered something to the School-master, who replied that there were enough others present to cope with the two parties to the conversation in case of a violent outbreak.

“I’d be very glad to see the photographs,” replied the Idiot.  “Can’t I secure copies of them for my collection?  You know I have the complete rendering of ‘Home, Sweet Home’ in kodak views, as sung by Patti.  They are simply wonderful, and they prove what has repeatedly been said by critics, that, in the matter of expression, the superior of Patti has never been seen.”

“I’ll try to get them for you, though I doubt it can be done.  The artist is a very shy young girl, and does not care to have her efforts given too great a publicity until she is ready to go into music a little more deeply.  She is going to read the ‘Moonlight Sonata’ to us at our next concert.  You’d better come.  I’m told her gestures bring out the composer’s meaning in a manner never as yet equalled.”

[Illustration:  “‘THE CORKS POPPED TO SOME PURPOSE LAST NIGHT’”]

“I’ll be there; thank you,” returned the Idiot.  “And the next time those fellows at the club are down for a pool tournament I want you to come up and hear them play.  It was extraordinary last night to hear the balls dropping one by one—­click, click, click—­as regularly as a metronome, into the pockets.  One of the finest shots, I am sorry to say, I missed.”

“How did it happen?” asked the Bibliomaniac.  “Weren’t your ears long enough?”

“It was a kiss shot, and I couldn’t hear it,” returned the Idiot.

“I think you men are crazy,” said the School-master, unable to contain himself any longer.

“So?” observed the Idiot, calmly.  “And how do we show our insanity?”

“Seeing concerts and hearing games of pool.”

“I take exception to your ruling,” returned the Imbiber.  “As my friend the Idiot has frequently remarked, you have the peculiarity of a great many men in your profession, who think because they never happened to see or do or hear things as other people do, they may not be seen, done, or heard at all.  I saw the concert I attended last night.  Our musical club has rooms next to a hospital, and we have to give silent concerts for fear of disturbing the patients; but we are all musicians of sufficient education to understand by a glance of the eye what you would fail to comprehend with fourteen ears and a microphone.”