I've a mind now to put up the fiddle and send your
ears to bed supperless. How would you like that, old fellow? but
I'll be good-natured. You shall have it, though you don't deserve
it; she's in prime tune, and the tones--only hear that, Bill--there.
Isn't she delicious?"
And as the inconsiderate cousin poured out his warmest eulogy of the
favorite instrument, his right hand flourished the bow in air, in
a style that would have cheered the heart of Jean Crapaud himself,
and then brought it over the cat-gut in a grand crash, that sounded
as harshly in the ears of his morbid visitor, as if the two worlds
had suddenly come together with steam-engine velocity. He clapped
his hands upon the invaded organs, and with something like horror
in his voice, cried out his expostulations.
"For heaven's sake, Ned, don't stun a body with your noise."
"Noise! Did you say noise, Bill Hinkley--noise?"
"Yes. noise," answered the other with some peevishness in his accents.
The violinist looked at him incredulously, while he suffered the
point of the fiddle-bow to sink on a line with the floor; then,
after a moment's pause, he approached his companion, wearing in his
face the while, an appearance of the most grave inquiry, and when
sufficiently nigh, he suddenly brought the bow over the strings
of the instrument, immediately in William's ears, with a sharp and
emphatic movement, producing an effect to which the former annoying
crash, might well have been thought a very gentle effusion.
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