Never before have I seen music so roughly handled.
It looked like a walk-over for Clarence, but in the fifth round he blew a couple of green notes and Lancelot got the decision.
Then, for a consolation prize, Hector was led out in the middle of the room, where he assassinated Mascagni's Cavalleria Rusticana so thoroughly that it will never be able to enter a fifty-cent table d'hôte restaurant again.
Almost before the audience had time to recover Peaches' sister, Jennie, was coaxed to sing Tosti's "Good Bye!"
I'm very fond of sister Jennie, but I'm afraid if Mr. Tosti ever heard her sing his "Good Bye" he would say, "the same to you, and here's your hat."
Before Jennie married and moved West I remember she had a very pretty mezzo-concertina voice, but she's been so long away helping Stub Wilson to make Milwaukee famous that nowadays her top notes sound like a cuckoo clock after it's been up all night.
I suppose it's wrong for me to pull this about our own flesh and blood, but when a married woman with six fine children, one of them at Yale, walks sideways up to a piano and begins to squeak, "Good bye, summer! Good bye, summer!" just as if she were calling the dachshund in to dinner, I think it's time she declined the nomination.
Then Bud Hawley, after figuring it all out that there was no chance of his getting arrested, sat down on the piano stool and made a few sad statements, which in their original state form the basis of a Scotch ballad called "Loch Lomond."
Bud's system of speaking the English language is to say with his voice as much of a word as he can remember and then finish the rest of it with his hands.
Imagine what Bud would do to a song with an oat-meal foundation like "Loch Lomond."