“Couldn’t we use one of the young women who studied with my daughter at the conservatory?”
“Dangerous, lady, dangerous. Better have a man, for the first recital, anyhow. Somebody like young Goldstein.”
“He played for my daughter at Mr. Fleming’s. I can’t say he impressed me——”
“Hell, you don’t want anybody to impress you!”
Mrs. Loamford stiffened. Harper noted the reaction.
“Pardon my French, Mrs. Loamford,” he apologized. “You get that way when you’ve been in this game so long. What I mean is just this—get a fellow who can play the piano like Goldstein. But don’t get one of those tricky virtuosos who try to hog the works. Goldstein’s played for a lot of good people. He’s steady and he knows the game. Of course, if you don’t want him——”
“Well, if you think so, Mr. Harper-" “You bet I think so,” he affirmed pleasantly. “We'll fix that up right now. DeWitt Goldstein at the piano. Are you tied to any particular make of piano? If you know Fleming, I suppose you'll use one of his lizzies.”
On the edge of the “Snappygram” he wrote “Champion Piano.”
Classy came in, followed by Tommy.
“Ah! bellowed Harper. “Here’s the old dirt dispenser.”
Dorothy was startled momentarily. Tommy didn’t seem like the slightly literary, sentimental, would-be amorist she had known. He looked a bit drawn and she noticed for the first time that his hair was retreating perceptibly from his forehead and that there were faint touches of gray near the temples. He looked neat without an effort. Tis mouth seemed to be drawn in a firmer line than hitherto. Probably he had been working hard. There
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