WHOM THE GODS DESTROYED
"He invited me to a recital—a piano recital! He said he was going to play at five-thirty in the auditorium, and I might come if I liked, though it was a private affair! How is that for nerve? He didn't look up to a hand organ."
My curiosity grew. And then, I had a great consciousness of not liking to disappoint even a drunken man. He evidently thought I was coming. I sketched lightly to the Nice Boy the affair of the morning. He was not shocked. He was amused. But my brother-in-law says that nothing I could say could shock the Nice Boy. In fact, he says, that if I mean nothing serious, I have no business to let the Nice Boy think—but that is a digression. It is one of my brother-in-law's prerogatives to be as impertinent as he cares to be.
"Shall we go over?" said I. "He is very probably an accompanist, stranded here, with his engagement ended. Perhaps he even plays well. These things happen in books." The Nice Boy shook his head.
"We'll go, by all means," he said, "but don't hope. He's not touched a piano this long time."
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