"Ain't it a cussed shame to spoil a first-class concert this way?"

"He's a mighty fine whistler," replied Ezekiel in the same tone that he
had used before.

Finally to quiet their exuberance Quincy was obliged to say a few words,
which were evidently what the audience was waiting for.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "the hour is getting late and there is
another number on the programme. Miss Putnam is tired and I shall have
to wet my whistle before I can use it again. I thank you for your kind
indulgence and applause."

This little speech pleased the audience. It was down to their level,
with "no sign of stuckupativeness about it," as one country girl
remarked to her chum. Quincy bowed, the audience laughed, and quiet was
restored.

The Professor had fidgeted, fumed, and fussed during Quincy's occupancy
of the platform. He now arose with feelings impossible to express and
took up his baton to lead the closing chorus. He brought it down with
such a whack upon the music stand that it careened, tottered, and fell
to the platform with a crash. Tilly James leaned over and whispered to
Huldy Mason: "The Professor seems to have a bad attack of Quincy, too."
And the two girls smothered their laughs in their handkerchiefs. If the
singing society had not been so well acquainted with the closing chorus
the Professor certainly would have thrown them out by his many mistakes
in beating time. The piece was a "sleighride" song. The Professor forgot
to give the signal for the ringing of the sleigh bells, but the members