Crazy Radio eBooks

He smiled perpetually. The other two were
thin and dreary, middle-aged, and hopeless-looking. They stood not far
from the table and began to play on guitars, putting wrong harmonies
to a well-known Neapolitan tune, whose name Artois could not recall.
"What a pity it is they never put the right bass!" said Hermione.
"Yes. One would suppose they would hit it sometimes by mistake. But
they seldom do."
Except for the thin and uncertain music the restaurant was almost
silent. The people who had just come in were sitting down far away at
the end of the long room. Hermione and Artois were the only other
visitors, now that Vere and the Marchesino were outside on the
terrace.
"Famous though it is, Frisio's does not draw the crowd," said
Hermione.
To-night she found it oddly difficult to talk to her friend, although
she had refused the Marchesino's invitation on purpose to do so.
"Perhaps people were afraid of the storm."
"Well, but it doesn't come."
"It is close," he said.


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