Movie Shoes by Noel Streatfeild

soon as John spoke, Rachel and Bee saw he was right. With a ribbon around her hair and an apron tied over a cotton frock Rachel could easily look like Alice in Wonderland. Bee said, “I’ll make an apron out of something this afternoon, and you go tell whoever’s arranging the program that your dance is called ‘Alice in Wonderland.’ If they announce it like that, everybody will know who you are meant to be, even if you don’t look much like it.”
    Tim had practiced every day. The day they sailed he found out there was a piano in the lounge, and the next day he sat down to play on it. The lounge steward came hurrying over to him.
    “Now then, young man, none of that; no strumming here.”
    “I don’t strum. I’m going to practice. I have to practice every day. I promised Mr. Brown, who teaches me, that I would.”
    Tim had nice manners as a rule, and the lounge steward had already noticed him with approval as a child who would not be as much of a nuisance as some; but Tim changed when he was at a piano
    He could be as difficult as Jane if anyone interrupted him when he wanted to play.
    “Can’t have every child in the boat practicing; got the rest of the passengers t o think about.
    Tim glanced around the lounge. Most of the passengers were on the deck. Those sitting about had not yet got their sea legs and had their eyes closed and anxious, suffering expressions on their faces.
    “Them! I wouldn’t miss my practice for them.” Tim struck a fine scornful chord to express his feelings.
    Grown-up people who have no particular talent themselves are apt to think that talent in a child is miraculous. The lounge steward was that sort of man. He looked at Tim’s fingers and marveled that they find the notes at all, let alone make a big noise like that.
    “You professional?”
    “Of course not. I’m going to be, but not for ages.”
    “Let’s hear you play a piece.
    The lounge steward had a face and a voice which were just the sort of face and voice Tim liked best. There was a look and a sound about them as if, at any minute, there would be an enormous laugh coming. Besides, playing pieces was what Tim liked doing.
    “Actually I’m supposed to do some special things first, but I’ll play my favorite tune for you.”
    Tim was an unusually musical boy, as Mr. Brown and Jeremy Caulder had found out. Of course, there were years of work ahead of him, but already when he played, it was nice to listen. Even the passengers who had not got their sea legs opened their eyes and cheered up a little. The lounge steward leaned on the piano and found himself forgetting where he was and was carried in his mind to the village in Hampshire where he lived, especially to his garden. He found himself thinking, “Must pick the last of those tomatoes before the frost gets them.” It gave him quite a shock when Tim stopped playing and he found himself leaning on the piano in the cabin-class lounge.
    “That was nice. What was it?”
    “It’s by Debussy. It’s called ‘Jardins sous la Pluie.”
    “And what might that mean?”
    “Mr. Brown says that turned into the English we speak, it means ‘Gardens in the Rain’”
    The lounge steward blinked. “Crikey, and that’s just what it sounded like; as soon as you started, I thought of my tomatoes.”
    After that Tim practiced as long as he liked, and of course, when the concert was suggested, it was taken for granted that Tim would play. To please his friend the lounge steward and himself, Tim said he would play “Jardins sous la Pluie.”
    The concert would quite honestly not have been much of a success without Tim and Rachel, for the talent was poor. Tim was on in the first half of the program, and everybody applauded so heartily that after he had bowed several times which made the passengers laugh, he played Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in G as an encore. Rachel danced at the end of the program. Her dance was quite short but arranged to show managers what she could do, so it