"Say, Perry," he said, "they've got a new guy at the piano. See?"
Perry looked and nodded. Then he took a second look and frowned puzzledly. "Who is he?" he asked.
"I don't know. But the other fellow was short and fat. Say, I hope they have a good melodrama, don't you?"
"Yes, one of those Western plays, eh?" Perry's gaze went back to the man at the piano. There was something about him that awakened recollection. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man of twenty-six or -seven, with clear-cut and very good-looking features, and a luxuriant mustache, as Perry could see when he turned to smile at one of the violinists. He played the piano as though he thoroughly enjoyed it, swaying a little from the hips and sometimes emphasizing with a sudden swift bend of his head.
"He can play all around the other guy," said Fudge in low and admiring whispers. "Wish I could play a piano like that. I'll bet he can 'rag' like anything!"
At that moment the house darkened and the program commenced with the customary weekly review. Fudge sat through some ten minutes of that patiently, and was only slightly bored when a rustic
comedy was unrolled before him, but when the next
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