J. Archibald McKackney
by the human ear. Ah, but they were rich and enjoyable! Up, up the scale I tried each note until at last the needle-like mustaches and spiked goatee of the Portuguese sea-cook were trilling a faint, sweet chord, yes, a genuine chord of three notes, not quite in key, but magnificently promising. I was so carried away with joy and excitement that I played furiously up and down the scale, oblivious to the false notes and discords, now caressing the harmonious whiskers with a pianissimo breeze, again fetching great booming notes from the beard of Captain Rust with cyclonic fortissimo gusts.
My instruments were of course eager to hear for themselves, and one by one I allowed them to use the microphone receivers and listen to the music of each other's whiskers. At last I had to tear them away from this fascinating diversion, and announced that the tuning process would begin at three o clock in the afternoon.
Wilkins had already summoned a skilled barber from Boston, with instructions to bring
