"What's a musicker?" asked Dorothy.
"Him!" said the boy.
Hearing this, the fat man sat up a little stiffer than before, as if
he had received a compliment, and still came the sounds:
Tiddle-widdle-iddle, oom pom-pom,
Oom pom-pom, oom--
"Stop it!" cried the shaggy man, earnestly. "Stop that dreadful noise."
The fat man looked at him sadly and began his reply. When he spoke
the music changed and the words seemed to accompany the notes. He
said--or rather sang:
It isn't a noise that you hear,
But Music, harmonic and clear.
My breath makes me play
Like an organ, all day--
That bass note is in my left ear.
"How funny!" exclaimed Dorothy; "he says his breath makes the music."
"That's all nonsense," declared the shaggy man; but now the music
began again, and they all listened carefully.
My lungs are full of reeds like those
In organs, therefore I suppose,
If I breathe in or out my nose,
The reeds are bound to play.
So as I breathe to live, you know,
I squeeze out music as I go;
I'm very sorry this is so--
Forgive my piping, pray!
"Poor man," said Polychrome; "he can't help it. What a great
misfortune it is!"
"Yes," replied the shaggy man; "we are only obliged to hear this music
a short time, until we leave him and go away; but the poor fellow
must listen to himself as long as he lives, and that is enough to
drive him crazy.
Pages:
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74