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Show 245 but it sounded like a teaspoon serenade on a tin milk pan. Some of the strings were missing altogether. I thought it a shame for it to be so mistreated. "Mr. Knaphus, I would like that piano. Would you sell i t ?" "My piano? You vant my piano?" he asked, astonished. "Yes, I do, " I said. "My piano, vich I haf at home?" "No. This piano. You don't use it. You don't take care of it. " "Oh, that one! " he said. "Oh, no! That is not my piano. I could not sell it to you. " "Well, then, whose is i t ?" "That piano! It is Gordon Cope's piano. He left it here five, maybe ten yar ago. I could not sell it. " I was persistent, but didn't know Gordon Cope from a hole in the ground. One day at the art center, while we were working with a nude model, the door opened and a handsome man came in. "Hello, Mr. Cope, " one of the students said. "Hi, Gordon, " said Mr. Malin. Deduction: Gordon Cope. Piano. I walked up to him. "Are you Gordon Cope ? " I asked. Without looking at me he began to search his pockets. Finally he fetched out an envelope and consulted the name on it. I could see it was addressed to him. |
