And so our moods go see-saw, up and down,
Our letters cross, perversely cold or fond!
There's only one redress—come back to town,
And then we'll meet, and cease to correspond!
THE MUSIC WITH A FUTURE.
(An Imaginary Sketch of How Things can not Possibly be Done.)
Scene—The Composing Room of an Illustrious Musician. The Illustrious Musician discovered deep in thought in front of a Piano.
Illustrious Musician (picking out the notes with one finger). "Dumty dumty, dumty dum dum." No, that isn't it! I am sure I had it just now. (Tries again.) "Dumty dumty, dumty dum dum." No, that's not it either! I must try it again—oh, of course, with Herr Von Bangemnöt. Now to summon him. (Blows trumpet). That ought to bring my aide-de-camp.
[Flourish of trumpets, drums; doors thrown open, and enter a Regiment of Infantry, with its full complement of officers.
Colonel (saluting). Your Majesty required assistance?
I. M. (considering). Yes, I knew I wanted something. Oh, to be sure. Will you please send Herr Von Bangemnöt to me at once.
Colonel (saluting). Yes, your Majesty. (To troops.) Right about turn.