He has nothing but your art in his mind.

He would rather blow on a comb than comb his hair with it, he's always tooting on every leaf and pipe, makes triangles of broken sword-blades, and not even a kitchen pot is safe from his drumming; in short there's nothing but singsong in the good-for-nothing fellow's head; he wants to be a musician or something of the sort." "Right, right!" replied Wilhelm eagerly; "he has a fine ear and the best voice in the choir." "The matter must be duly considered," replied the captain, "and you, if anybody, are the person to tell us what he can accomplish in your art.
If you have time this evening, Herr Wilhelm, come to me at the watch house, I should like to speak to you.

To be sure, you'll hardly find me before ten o'clock.

I have a stricture in my throat again, and on such days--Roland, my fore man!" The captain cleared his throat loudly and vehemently.

"I am at your service," said Wilhelm, "for the night is long, but I won't let you go now until I know what you mean by your fore man Roland." "Very well, it's not much of a story, and perhaps you won't understand.
Come in here; I can tell it better over a mug of beer, and the legs rebel if they're deprived of rest four nights in succession." When the two men were seated opposite to each other in the tap-room, the fencing-master pushed his moustache away from his lips, and began: "How long ago is it-?
We'll say fifteen years, since I was riding to Haarlem with the innkeeper Aquarius, who as you know, is a learned man and has all sorts of old stuff and Latin manuscripts.