And so on through the bleating of his sheep and the gobbling of her turkeys until they could scarcely sing for laughing.
Then the mood of the absurd seized her; and she made him sing "Johnny Schmoker" with her until they could scarcely draw breath for the eternal refrain:
"Kanst du spielen?"
and the interminable list of musical instruments so easily mastered by that Teutonic musician.
"I want to sing you a section of one of those imbecile, colourless, pastel-tinted and very precious Debussy things," she exclaimed; and did so, wandering and meandering on and on through meaningless mazes of sound until he begged for mercy and even had to stay her hands on the key-board with his own.
She stopped then, pretending disappointment and surprise.
"Very well," she said; "you'll have to match my performance with something equally imbecile"; and she composed herself to listen.
"What shall I do that is sufficiently imbecile?" he asked gravely; "turn seven solemn handsprings?"
"That isn't silly enough. Roll over on the rug and play dead."