The class giggled, but respectfully and in a perfect major-accord. Dr. Nopkin grew black in the face. Turning to Mr. Quelson he said:
"Either I am president or I am not, Mr. Quelson."
That gentleman looked very much embarrassed.
"Oh, of course, doctor, of course; Mr. Blink was carried away, you know—carried away by his professional enthusiasm—no offense intended, I am sure, Mr. Blink."
By this time Mr. Blink had been pulled down in his seat by Mr. Sanderson, the critic of the Skyrocket, and order was restored.
The class seemed disappointed as Dr. Nopkin proceeded: "As I was saying when interrupted by my Wagnerian associate, the young man went to Thalberg and played an original composition called the Tornado Galop. It was written exclusively for the black keys, and a magnificent glissando, if I do flatter myself, ended the piece most brilliantly. Thalberg—it was in the year '57, if I remember aright."
"You do," remarked the class in pleasing tune.
"Thank you, gentlemen, I see dates are not your weak point. Thalberg remarked—"
"For goodness sake give us a rest on Thalberg!" said the irrepressible Blink.
"A rest, yes, a fermata if you wish," retorted the doctor, and the witticism was received with a yell, in the Doric mode. You see Rheinberger had not quite sapped the sense of humor of Mr. Quelson's young acolytes.