At this point Max attempted to create a diversion.
"Look at that lady sitting there!" he said. "She puts on a yellow hat to an old-gold dress. She's committing murder and she don't know it!"
Kammerman seized on the incident as a way of escape from criticising Jassy's trio.
"That reminds me, Lubliner," he said. "Give me your business card if you have one with you. I must tell Mr. Dalzell, my cloak buyer, to look over your line. I'm sure, with a designer of Mr. Merech's artistic instincts working for you, you will be making up just the highgrade line of goods we need."
One year later, the usual crowd of first-nighters lounged in the lobby of the Siddons Theatre during the intermission between the second and third acts of M. Sidney Benson's newest musical comedy, "Marjory from Marguery's," and commented with enthusiasm on the song hit of the show—"My Blériot Maid." A number of the more gifted even whistled the melody, skipping the hard part and proceeding by impromptu and conventional modulation to the refrain, which had been expressly designed by its composer, Milton Jassy, so as to present no technical difficulties to the most modest whistler.
Through this begemmed and piping throng, Kammerman and Volkovisk elbowed their way to the street for a breath of fresh air; and as they reached the sidewalk Kammerman heaved a sigh of relief.
"What a terrible melody!" he ejaculated.
"But the plot ain't bad," Volkovisk suggested, and Kammerman grinned involuntarily.
"To be exact, the two plots aren't bad," he said. "It's made up of two old farces. One of them is 'Embrassons nous, Duval,' and the other 'Un Garçon, de chez Gaillard.'"