"What in the world is it?" he asked. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. "Steady, old top! What are you going to do?" "The damned scoundrel!" "I told you that child was opal. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself.
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