"Brass band."
"Ach so! Vell, vat did I mean?"
"Your German mind was headed right, but went astray on a by-path of idiom. Saint Mary's culture is not in competition with a brass band in blue uniform, but aims at the highest orchestral and surpliced effects."
"Vell, a choir committee wrote me, anyhow, und I loss de letter. Helas! I loss everyt'ing—my reputation, my bes' friends! I put 'em somevere und forget 'em. Vat did I do mit my letter?"
"I suppose it's in your pocket."
"Gott! So it is! Vell, dey vant an organist, und Saint Mary's—"
"Has a three-banked organ, and Hamilton is a sleepy place, good for your neophyte to sit down in and learn the alphabet of humanity. I know Saint Mary's."
"Ach! Plazes! So you do!" Moselle stopped short and looked at Mavering under overhanging, yellowish eyebrows. "Am I intruding—roping in your domestic circle, Shack?"
"I think likely. It's no circle. It's an incommensurable ratio. You know that."
"I know no more than you like, Shack," said Moselle, gently. "You haf no objections?"