It is a masterpiece of an instrument, I can tell you; for one of the legs is gone and I propped it up with two empty boxes, and the keys are all black except those that have lost the ivory--and those are green.

It has also five pedals, disposed as a harp underneath; but none of them make any impression on the sound, except the middle one, which rings a bell.
The sound-board has a crack in it somewhere, Nino says, and two of the notes are dumb since the great German maestro came home with my boy one night, and insisted on playing an accompaniment after supper.

We had stewed chickens and a flask of Cesanese, I remember, and I knew something would happen to the piano.

But Nino would never have any other, for De Pretis had a very good one; and Nino studies without anything--just a common tuning-fork that he carries in his pocket.

But the old piano was the beginning of his fame.