“Why do you call the violin she?” asked another.
“Because I have named her Pysche; she has so much life in her,” answered Tom.
“You are her sycophant, then!” said another. (Renewed applause.)
“It seems to me your violin always has a very guttural sound with it,” remarked Alec Boyce. (Laughter.)
“Yes,” replied Tom Martin; “and no doubt the poet detected the same thing in other instruments, when he composed those time-honoured lines—
“Hey diddle diddle,
The cat and the fiddle.”
Then the applause reached its climax, and of course the little jokes were retailed to other groups.
By degrees the company in the tea-room began to decrease. In the cold months, however temperate the atmosphere may be kept, there is always a chilliness in passing from one room to another, and especially at parties. When, therefore, the drawing-room began to fill, Charlie started a proposition—“Had we not better have a dance to warm us?” and he added, “It used to be the fashion to terminate a concert with God save the Queen; and now the National Anthem comes first, and it used to be the fashion to wind up a party with Sir Roger de Coverley, but why should we not begin with it?” Of course nobody knew of any just cause or impediment, and so the proposition was carried without a dissentient voice.