Schroeder's Piano
Schroeder was hutched over his toy piano, playing frantically. Notes came spurring out of the plaything faster than a top-speed racecar during a downhill race.
In truth, he was practicing for the school's talent show. Who wouldn't be impressed by an eight-year-old churning Beethoven out of a seven-year-old toy piano?
In truth, there weren't many adults he could come across that he couldn't impress. And recently, he had started writing his own compositions, just as well as Beethoven's. He was a prodigy, there was no doubt.
And even with the usual distractions of Lucy's love fantasies and Snoopy's messing with his piano, nothing could break his concentration. He had to practice to keep his skills as sharp as possible.
But one day, he came into his house distraught. Everybody was worried about him. His piano, lying in the middle of his room (as usual,) lay fingerprint-less. He did not play for weeks, not even to practice for his grand concert at the school talent show.
His teacher had ruined it for him.