“Bravo, father! bravo! Capital, Mr. Eld! capital!”
“Theer,” said Sennacherib, ignoring the compliment, and scowling in a sort of dogged triumph at the placid old man behind Reuben's chair, “d'ye think as _that_ could be beat if we spent forty 'ear at it? Theer wa'n't a fause note from start to finish, and time was kep' like a clock.”
“It's a warmish bit o' work, that hallygro,” said old Fuller, in milder self-gratulation, as he disposed his 'cello between his knees, and mopped his bald forehead. “A warmish bit o' work it is.”
“Come, now,” said Sennacherib, “d'ye think as it could be beat? A civil answer to a civil question is no more than a beggar's rights, and no less than a king's obligingness.”
“It was wonderful well played, Mr. Eld,” the old man answered.
“Beat!” said Isaiah. “Why it stands to natur' as it could be beat. D'ye think Paganyni couldn't play a better second fiddle than I can?”
“Ought to play second fiddle pretty well thyself,” returned Sennacherib. “Hast been at it all thy life. Ever since thee was married, annyway.”
“Come, come, come,” said the fat 'cello-player. “Harmony, lads, harmony! How was it, Mr. Gold, as you come to give up the music. Theer's them as is entitled to speak, and has lived i' the parish longer than I have, as holds you up to have been a real noble player.”
“There's them,” the old man answered, “as would think the parish church the finest buildin' i' the king-dom. But they wouldn't be them as had seen the glories of Lichfield cathedral.”
“I'm speakin' after them as thinks they have a right to talk,” said the other.
“I might at my best day have come pretty nigh to Reuben,” the old man allowed, “though I never was his equal. But as for a real noble player--”
“Well, well,” said Fuller, “it ain't a hammer-chewer in a county as plays like Reuben. Give Mr. Gold a chair, Ruth. I should like to hear what might ha' made a man throw it over as had iver got as far.”
“I heard Paganini,” the old man answered. “I was up in London rather better than six-and-twenty year ago, and I heard Paganini.”
“That's all the story,” said the old man, seating himself in the chair the girl had brought him. “I never cared to touch a bow again.”
“I have never been a wine-drinker,” said Gold, “but I may speak of wine to make clear my mean-in'. If you had been drinkin' a wonderful fine glass of port or sherry wine, you wouldn't try to take the taste out of your mouth with varjuice.”