Judge of my surprise when the editor had me on the carpet the following day.
I knew his digestion was bad, and that he meant to trip me up on some mere trifle.
So I was on my guard.
"See here," he said, "did you do this write-up of the concert last night?"
I confessed that it was my job.
He frowned and rapped the paper.
"I see you speak of the audience 'drinking in the marvelous strains of the orchestra.' That is a hackneyed phrase, I know, but tell me, how in the name of Heaven can any one drink in music?"
"Well," I suggested, "one way I suppose it might be done would be with a Rubinstein."
I should have been bounced, I know, but it was my first offense, and the great editor let me down easy.