fensive and Polish, but—Miss Arrowpoint being there—did not like to move away.
"Herr Klesmer has cosmopolitan ideas." said Miss Arrowpoint, trying to make the best of the situation. "He looks forward to a fusion of races."
"With all my heart," said Mr Bult, willing to be gracious. "I was sure he had too much talent to be a mere musician."
"Ah, sir, you are under some mistake there," said Klesmer, firing up. "No man has too much talent to be a musician. Most men have too little. A creative artist is no more a mere musician than a great statesman is a mere politician. We are not ingenious puppets, sir, who live in a box and look out on the world only when it is gaping for amusement. We help to rule the nations and make the age as much as any other public men. We count ourselves on level benches with legislators. And a man who speaks effectively through music is compelled to something more difficult than parliamentary eloquence."
With the last word Klesmer wheeled from the piano and walked away.
Miss Arrowpoint coloured, and Mr Bult observed with his usual phlegmatic solidity, "Your pianist does not think small beer of himself."
