"Is there any difference?"
"You bet there is. To the neighbors I'll say it was 'so delightful' and 'extremely artistic,' but if it's on the level I'll say it was punk."
"What?" cried Virginia.
"Punk?" echoed his wife, puzzled.
"Yes! Fancy paying five a throw to hear a sawed-off Italian let go a few top notes, when you can have the same seat in a vaudeville theatre and get Eva Tanguay and a whole bunch of good acts for a dollar! Five a throw to hear a dago yodel something I don't even understand—not for my money!"
"James!" cried Fanny in despair.
But, once started, Jimmie was not to be curbed. With a grin he went on:
"And the leading lady—a human joke if ever there was one. There they were all telling about this beautiful maiden of eighteen summers, and when she came on—a beautiful maiden? A milk wagon, believe me, a milk wagon!"
Fanny turned to her sister. Apologetically she said:
"You see, dear, James only cares for violin music."