"The man who sings all day at work is a happy man."
"Yes, but how about the man who works and has to listen to him?" Miss Jeanette Gilder was one of the ardent enthusiasts at the debut of Tetrazzini. After the first act she rushed to the back of the house to greet one of her friends. "Don't you think she is a wonder?" she asked excitedly.
"She is a great singer unquestionably," responded her more phlegmatic friend, "but the registers of her voice are not so even as, for instance, Melba's."
"Oh, bother Melba," said Miss Gilder. "Tetrazzini gives infinitely more heat from her registers."
At a certain Scottish dinner it was found that every one had contributed to the evening's entertainment but a certain Doctor MacDonald.
"Come, come, Doctor MacDonald," said the chairman, "we cannot let you escape."
The doctor protested that he could not sing.
"My voice is altogether unmusical, and resembles the sound caused by the act of rubbing a brick along the panels of a door."
The company attributed this to the doctor's modesty. Good singers, he was reminded, always needed a lot of pressing.