“No? Just the same, that artistic team of yourn was shore stuck on boiled aigs.”
That ruffled her up some. “Alec,” she says, “you mustn’t run down the Perfessor. He’s a big musician.”
“Wal,” I answers, “if hair makes a big musician, ’Pache Sam oughta lead the band.”
“And he’s been awful good to me. Why, he’s let go dozens and dozens of rich pupils to come here ev’ry day and give me my lesson.”
“Fer how much?”
“Fer how much?” I ast again.
“Five dollars,” she answers.
I snickered.
“But he charges all the others ten,” she puts in quick. “He come down in the price ’cause he was so wrapped up in my career.”