This instrument was squeezed in between
the bureau and the washstand, filling up the last spare place in the
crowded little room. Pet wanted to have it set up in the next apartment,
and practise there in the cold, alone; but neither her father nor Marcus
would listen to that proposition for a moment.
Mr. Minford's nerves were extremely sensitive to sound. They vibrated to
it, like Aeolian harp in the wind. He placed pianos, cats, fish
peddlers, and hand organs on precisely the same footing, as nuisances.
Nothing but the ruling desire to make a lady of his child, could have
steeled him to the endurance, hour after hour, of her monotonous
"One--two--three--four," and the discordant banging which accompanied
those plaintive utterances.
The permanent discords with which the piano was afflicted, or the
striking of a false note, would sometimes set his teeth on edge; but he
would only hold his jaws tightly together, beat time with his head, and
smile a hypocritical approval. Sometimes he would torture himself
playfully, and make Pet laugh, by running a musical opposition with his
three-cornered file--a small but effective instrument.
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