There ain't goin' to be no more music." The crowd drew off, for none of them cared to offend this autocrat of the shears and razor.
Ingolby had listened to the music with a sense of being swayed by a wind which blew from all quarters of the compass at once.

He loved music; it acted as a clearing-house to his mind; and he played the piano himself with the enthusiasm of a wilful amateur, who took liberties with every piece he essayed.

There was something in this fellow's playing which the great masters, such as Paganini, must have had.

As the music ceased, he did not speak, but remained leaning against the great red-plush barber's chair looking reflectively at the Romany.

Berry, however, said to the still absorbed musician: "Where did you learn to play ?" The Romany started, and a flush crossed his face.