‘What’s that?’ said Harris. ‘A frying-pan?’

‘No,’ said George, with a strange, wild look glittering in his eyes; ‘they are all the rage this season; everybody has got them up the river. It’s a banjo.’

‘I never knew you played the banjo!’ cried Harris and I, in one breath.

‘Not exactly,’ replied George; ‘but it’s very easy, they tell me; and I’ve got the instruction book!’