“I am sure that that would be charming,” agreed the duchess, replacing her powder-puff.
Mr Saltzburg played ’em all. This man by now seemed entirely lost to shame. The precious minutes that belonged to his employers and should have been earmarked for “The Rose of America” flitted by. The ladies and gentlemen of the ensemble, who should have been absorbing and learning to deliver the melodies of Roland Trevis and the lyrics of Otis Pilkington, lolled back in their seats. The yellow-keyed piano rocked beneath an unprecedented onslaught. The proceedings had begun to resemble not so much a rehearsal as a home evening, and grateful glances were cast at the complacent cherub. She had, it was felt, shown tact and discretion.
Pleasant conversation began again.
“… And I walked a couple of blocks, and there was exactly the same model in Schwartz and Gulderstein’s window at twenty-six fifty …”
“… He got on at Forty-second Street, and he was kinda fresh from the start. I could see he was carrying a package. At Sixty-sixth he came sasshaying right down the car and said ‘Hello, patootie!’ Well, I drew myself up …”
“… ‘Even if you are my sister’s husband,’ I said to him. Oh, I suppose I got a temper. It takes a lot to arouse it, y’know, but I c’n get pretty mad …”
“… You don’t know the half of it, dearie, you don’t know the half of it! A one-piece bathing suit! Well, you could call it that, but the cop on the beach said it was more like a baby’s sock. And when …”
“… So I said ‘Listen, Izzy, that’ll be about all from you! My father was a gentleman, though I don’t suppose you know what that means, and I’m not accustomed …’”
“Hey!”
A voice from the neighborhood of the door had cut into the babble like a knife into butter; a rough, rasping voice, loud and compelling, which caused the conversation of the members of the ensemble to cease on the instant. Only Mr Saltzburg, now in a perfect frenzy of musicianly fervor, continued to assault the decrepit piano, unwitting of an unsympathetic addition to his audience.