“Great balls of fire!” exploded the listener, blinking his eyes in bewilderment at the flow of words. “Don’t you ever run down?”
“Sir!”
“By gum, you’re the windiest talker I ever heerd tell of. Windjammer’s a good name fur you, all right. Windjammer! Hee! hee! hee!”
“Windbigler, sir,” came the dignified correction.
“It hain’t every tramp stoppin’ here fur a handout thet’s got sech a lingo as you have. I never seed your beat.”
“My dear sir … a tramp! … you quite distress and embarrass me. In the words of my esteemed father, the late Ferdinand Wind——”
“Shet up!”
The Harmony Hustler bowed humbly.
“I, sir, am ‘shet,’ as you so excellently put it.”
“So you’re a pianny tuner, hey?”