note.

Then Cleopatra moved up to the squeaky end of the piano and gave an
imitation of a Swiss music box.

It sounded to me like a Swiss cheese.

Presently Cleopatra ran out of raw material and subsided, while we
all applauded her with our fingers crossed, and two very thoughtful
ladies began to talk fast to Cleopatra so as to take her mind off
the piano.

Then the Bingledingle brothers, known as Oscar and Victor, opened
fire on us with a couple of mandolins.

Oscar and Victor play entirely by hand. They don't know one note
from another, and they can prove it when they begin to play.

Their mother believes them to be prodigies of genius. She is alone
in her belief.

After Oscar and Victor had chased one of Sousa's marches all over
the parlor and finally left it unconscious under the sofa, they
bowed and ceased firing, and then they went out in the dining-room
and filled their storage batteries with ice cream and cake.

This excitement was followed by another catastrophe named Minnehaha
Jones, who picked up a couple of soprano songs and screeched them
at us.