Whetstone.
Why, Major, Susan and I were young together, and we loved, or thought we did. She wanted to marry, I wanted to wait; consequence, compromise. I engaged her as my housekeeper. There’s romance for you!
Bluegrass.
’Tis an ancient parallel.
Whetstone.
In our serenade, what shall I do?
Bluegrass.
The guitar you hold you cannot play; hence I’ll do the mechanical upon the strings, while you twit the circumambient air from the bridge musical of your instrument. And if you’d prove me with a double burden, I’ll bear both words and music; in which event you’ll give the color and visible gesture of description. Stand you beneath some close-leaved tree, where the night overlaps, and I’ll be concealed near you in the shrubbery. Later, I’ll emerge behind you, as your true shadow.
Whetstone.
All right, I’ll give the motions. Now, let’s see what we have in the song-book. [Opening song-book.] Here’s the Midnight Serenade; and Beauteous Lady I Adore Thee. That’s business. Here’s a whole grist of meeting songs: [reading] Meet Me at the Lane; Meet Me by Moonlight; Meet Me, Darling, in the Dell; Meet Me down by the Sea; Meet Me in the Arbor; Meet Me in the Twilight. Where’ll this end? Meet Me ’neath the Slippery-Elm Tree. Meet Me in the Willow-Glen. Why, Major, the earth is covered with meeting-places. But wait! [Examining book and pondering.] What book-carpenter did this work? Here’s Black-Eyed Susan—[aside] Susan has brown eyes—[aloud] sandwiched between Paddle your own Canoe and the Pirates’ Chorus.