Adventures in the Far Future & Tales of Outer Space — page 136: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Maun watched him closely, his features rapt. When the man from the past was quite finished, he raptly breathed: “Beautiful! The most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard!” Striker stared dumbly. “You're crazy,” he said. “That’s just a piece of trash that had every moron on Earth drooling with joy.” “Do you Know many more of those?” asked Maun. “Lots,” said Striker. “And | have a memory full to the brim with real music: Sibelius, Rachmaninoff, Shostakovitch. Plus Gershwin. Say!” Dawn was breaking. “Maybe | can make some money on this sort of thing?” FOR the next month Striker struggled feebly against the incredible notoriety that had engulfed him. After that he Surrendered to the fate that was his. From his memory, well stocked with the syncopations and classics of his day, there flowed tune after tune, to which Maun would scamp up some sort of lyrics. His greatest popular success was an insignificant litthke swing number whose name he did not remember. And more seriously, he was able to piece together some sort of orchestration, for the vaguely familiar instruments of this new world, to Tchaikovsky’s Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Symphonies. This, together with numberless Bach preludes, fugues and chorales—the old music-master had been his delight and relaxation in his own time—assured him a reputation as a bizarre and masterly composer of precision, endless pains and melancholy genius. He lived with Maun now, not in the old scholar’s humble apartment near the university, but in that Millionaires’ Row he had seen in his tour of the city. Striker grew swiftly accustomed to the social usages of this far day and easily Slid into a routine of work. Indeed, it was almost forgotten CORniclooo SS CO