He looked so horrified that it skairt me, and says I in almost tremblin’ tones:
“What is the matter with ’em?” And I added in a cheerful tone, “we haint bought it.”
He looked more cheerful too as I said it, and says he “You may be thankful enough that you haint. There haint no music in ’em at all; hear that,” says he, goin’ up and strikin’ the very top note. It did sound flat enough.
Says I, “There must be more music in it than that, though I haint no judge at all.”
“Well, hear that, then,” and he went and struck the very bottom note. “You see just what it is, from top to bottom. But it haint its total lack of music that makes me despise pianos so, it is because they are so dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” says I.
“Yes, in thunder storms, you see;” says he, liftin’ up the cover, “here it is all wire, enough for fifty lightnin’ rods—draw the lightnin’ right into the room. Awful dangerous! No money would tempt me to have one in my house with my wife and daughter. I shouldn’t sleep a wink thinkin’ I had exposed ’em to such danger.”
“Good land!” says I, “I never thought on it before.”
“Well, now you have thought of it, you see plainly that a organ is jest what you need. They are full of music, safe, healthy and don’t cost half so much.”
Says I, “A organ was what we had sot our minds on at first.”