To this end, and
further to corroborate his fable, he had brought in the leather case not
only writing materials, but a ream of large-size music paper, such as he
considered suitable for an ambitious character like Jimson's. 'And now
to work,' said he, when he had satisfied his appetite. 'We must leave
traces of the wretched man's activity.' And he wrote in bold characters:
ORANGE PEKOE.
Op. 17.
J. B. JIMSON.
Vocal and p. f. score.
'I suppose they never do begin like this,' reflected Gideon; 'but then
it's quite out of the question for me to tackle a full score, and
Jimson was so unconventional. A dedication would be found convincing, I
believe. "Dedicated to" (let me see) "to William Ewart Gladstone, by his
obedient servant the composer." And now some music: I had better avoid
the overture; it seems to present difficulties. Let's give an air for
the tenor: key--O, something modern!--seven sharps.' And he made a
businesslike signature across the staves, and then paused and browsed
for a while on the handle of his pen. Melody, with no better inspiration
than a sheet of paper, is not usually found to spring unbidden in the
mind of the amateur; nor is the key of seven sharps a place of much
repose to the untried.
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