"Well, say Gounod's 'Romeo and Juliet' and the 'Boulanger March."
"Yes, it's much jollier than the Op. 42 andante adagio con fuoco prestissimo sort of things they give you at the Richter Concerts."
"Maclean," observed Eustace, gravely regarding his glass, "you are a Philistine, and classical music of the advanced school is thrown away on your uncultivated ear."
"No doubt! I prefer 'Auld Lang Syne' to Beethoven."
"Naturally, being a Scotchman. You're like the man who knew two tunes. One was 'God save the Queen,' the other--wasn't."
"I remember," observed Mrs. Trubbles, whose ideas of music were primitive in the extreme, "that I went to a concert at St. James' Hall, where they played something called a fuggy."
"A fugue," translated Victoria for the benefit of the company. "I know! One tune starts, a second catches it up. Then a third joins in, and just as it successfully muddles up the other two, a fourth and a fifth have their say in the matter."
"Sounds dreadfully mixed."
"Then it sounds exactly what it is," said Miss Sheldon promptly. "But what about this particular fugue, Mrs. Trubbles?"
"The fugue, dear--yes, of course. There was a young man in front of me wriggled dreadfully. I thought he was uneasy about a pin, but he was only showing how pleased he was with the music, and kept calling out 'Oh this is food!'"