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 accompanist. Several of the young men here play. Possibly they may know the accompaniments.”

He called a lean, dark youth from a neighboring desk.

“This is Mr. Goldstein,’ he explained. “Mrs. and Miss Loamford, Mr. Goldstein. Mr. Goldstein is a very fine pianist. I am sure he will be an excellent accompanist.”’

“Music?” queried Goldstein.

“My daughter has brought no music,” said Mrs. Loamford. “But surely you will be able to play her accompaniments. Do you know ‘On the Waters to Sing’ by Schubert or the Vilanelle by Dell’ Acqua?”

Goldstein shook his head.

“Perhaps,” suggested Fleming, “Mr. Goldstein name a few songs he can play without music.’

“Just a few things,” answered Goldstein, “like ‘At Dawning.’ Nothing-"

“Excellent!” cried Mrs. Loamford. “Dorothy sings it beautifully. My husband always says he would rather hear Dorothy sing ‘At Dawning’ than any of her foreign songs. She sings it so nicely!”

Fleming rose.

“Let us go to one of the salons,” he said.

He took them to a small chamber, handsomely furnished, which contained three grand pianos with conspicuous price tags.

“T’m sorry,” remarked Mrs. Loamford, “that Dorothy can’t sing for you her group of old French-"

“I’m sure she'll acquit herself nobly,” observed Fleming.

“A flat?” demanded Goldstein.

“For soprano,” said Mrs. Loamford.

Goldstein played a few chords. Fleming sat in a chair opposite the piano. Mrs. Loamford sat near Dorothy.