"Yes, but he always tunes in for jazz."
"Why don't you interest your family in them? One would be great fun for your grandmother and your aunt and uncles."
"I'd never get near it. Besides, they wouldn't spend the money on it. All the old ones are as close as bark to a tree."
"What about Renny or Piers?"
"They detest them. Besides, money is awfully tight at home this winter. Gosh, you know I can't get any money for anything but my fees and my railway ticket. What are you talking about?"
George leaned forward, his square, roguish face twinkling. "I know how we can earn some money, Finch."
Finch flung the core of the russet into the waste-paper basket. "How, then?" His tone was sceptical.
"By getting up an orchestra."
"An orchestra! You've gone dotty, haven't you?"
"Not by a long shot. Listen here. The other day my father was making a sick call in Stead, and I drove him there. These people have a greenhouse, and while I waited outside I strolled about looking through the windows at the plants. A fellow came out and we got to talking. He was a grandson and he'd just come out from town because of the sickness. I soon found out that he plays the mandolin. He's got a friend who plays it, too, and another who plays the flute. They've been thinking for some time they'd like to get up an orchestra if they could find some fellows to play the banjo and piano. He was awfully excited when I told him we might go in for it."
Finch was staggered. "But your father—what will he say?"
"He won't know. You see, I didn't tell this fellow I was Dad's son. He thinks I'm just employed by him. I thought it was better because one's people are so darned silly about who you go with. Of course, these other fellows are all right, but you know how unreasonable one's family can be." And he added softly: "One of
