“Tum-tum-tumty …”
Mr Saltzburg pressed his hands to his ears in a spasm of pain.
“No, no, no! Sour! Sour! Sour!… Once again. La-la-la …”
A round-faced girl with golden hair and the face of a wondering cherub interrupted, speaking with a lisp.
“Mithter Thalzburg.”
“Now what is it, Miss Trevor?”
“What sort of a show is this?”
“A musical show,” said Mr Saltzburg severely, “and this is a rehearsal of it, not a conversazione. Once more, please …”
The cherub was not to be rebuffed.
“Is the music good, Mithter Thalzburg?”