"That's the stuff!" he said. "That's the stuff to give 'em!"
After a moment's pause, Ben turned again to the piano. This time he
played the Sonata Pathetique in C Minor, Op. XIII; then the Sonata
Walstein in C Major. Between each, he got up, moved forward to the edge
of the platform, and bowed.
At the end of the Sonata, Op. III--by rights the first on the
programme--during the short interval which followed it he straightened
his shoulders with a sort of swagger, utterly unlike himself, swung
round to the piano again, and slammed out "God Save the King."
He played it through to the very end, then rose, bowed from where he
stood, stared round at the empty hall--a dreadful, strained, defiant
smile stiffening upon his face--and sinking back upon his stool, laid
his arms across the keyboard with a crash of notes, burying his head
upon them.
In a moment Jenny was out of her seat. There were chairs in her way,
and she kicked them aside; raked one forward with her foot, and
scrambled on to the platform; then, catching a sideways glimpse of the
empty seats, bent forward and shook her fist at them.
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