“It’s not. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. His father was one of my old customers, and I am happy to find his son treading in his steps. 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. Wild," cried Jack, placing his hat on the right arm of the guide-post, and leaning over the board, "I've done the trick myself. But he could only utter an inarticulate exclamation.
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