Ma—Bolax you are wasting your time, don't stop, you have not practised long enough.
Bolax—Look at the clock, Ma, dear. It was bright sunlight when I began, and now the shades of night are falling.
Ma—That's very poetical, but you must continue practising.
Bolax—Oh, you are the provokingest mother I ever saw; I'll not love you a bit after a while, if you keep on making me practise.
Ma—Go on with your lesson, especially that piece for the concert.
Bolax—Bang, bang, oh, how I wish the man who invented pianos was dead.
Ma—Well, he is dead.
Bolax—Then I wish all the professors were dead.
Ma—A great many of them are. Go on with your work.
Bolax—Oh, Ma, dear, can't you let up on a fellow, if you don't, indeed, indeed, I'll be dead too!