Page:Aaron's Rod, Lawrence, New York 1922.djvu/130

 Pelléas. Though the noise of London was around them, it was far below, and in the room was a deep silence. Each of the men seemed invested in his own silence.

Aaron suddenly took his flute, and began trying little passages from the opera on his knee. He had not played since his illness. The noise came out a little tremulous, but low and sweet. Lilly came forward with a plate and a cloth in his hand.

"Aaron's rod is putting forth again," he said, smiling.

"What?" said Aaron, looking up.

"I said Aaron's rod is putting forth again."

"What rod?"

"Your flute, for the moment."

"It's got to put forth my bread and butter."

"Is that all the buds it's going to have?"

"What else!"

"Nay—that's for you to show. What flowers do you imagine came out of the rod of Moses's brother?"

"Scarlet runners, I should think if he'd got to live on them."

"Scarlet enough, I'll bet."

Aaron turned unnoticing back to his music. Lilly finished the wiping of the dishes, then took a book and sat on the other side of the table.

"It's all one to you, then," said Aaron suddenly, "whether we ever see one another again?"

"Not a bit," said Lilly, looking up over his spectacles. "I very much wish there might be something that held us together."

"Then if you wish it, why isn't there?"

"You might wish your flute to put out scarlet-runner flowers at the joints."

"Ay—I might. And it would be all the same."

The moment of silence that followed was extraordinary in its hostility.

"Oh, we shall run across one another again some time," said Aaron.

"Sure," said Lilly. "More than that: I'll write you an