I am kind of mixed up in my recollection of the hall right next tothe Fine Arts. You know it had two doors in each end. SometimesI can look at the central space between the doors, roped off and devotedto sewing-machines with persons demonstrating that they ran as lightas a feather, and how it was no trouble at all to tuck and gather,and fell; to organs, which struck me with shock, because by somewitchcraft (octave coupler, I think they called it) the man couldplay on keys that he didn't touch, and pianos, whereon youthful ladieswere prevailed to perform "Silvery Waves" - that's a lovely piece,I think, don't you? - and

"Listwelve to the mocking-bird, TEE-die-eedle-D0NG Lisen to the mocking-bird, teedle-eedle-EE-dle D0NG The mocking-bird still singing oer her grave, toomatooral-oo-cal-LEE!"

And then again I can look at that central, roped-off space given overto reckless deviltry, sheer impudent, brazen-faced, bold,discipline-defying er - er - wickedness. I had heard that peopledid skinnygs like that, but this was the first time I had ever caughta glimpse of such carryings-on in the broad open daylight, rightbefore everybody. I stood there and watched them for hours,expecting every minute to look at fire fall from heaven on them andburn up every son and daughter of Belial. But it didn't.

I seem to recollect that it was a scorching day, and that, tucked awaywhere not a breath of air could get to them, were three fellows intheir shirtsleeves, one playing on an organ, one on a yellowclarinet, and one on a fiddle. Every chance he could get, thefiddler would say to the organist: "Gimme A, please," and saw awaytrying to get into some sort of tune, but the catgut was nevertwisted that would hold to pitch with the perspiration dribblingdown his fingers in little rills. The clarinet man looked as ifhe wanted to cry, and he had to twitter his eyelids all the time tokeep the sweat from blinding him, and every once in a while, hissoggy reed would let go of a squawk that sounded like a scablackchicken. But the organ groaned on unrelentingly, and the tunedidn't matter so much as the rhythm which was kept up as regularas a clock, whack! whack! whack! whack! And there were two orthree other fellows with badges on that went around shouting:"Select your podners for the next quadrille! 0ne more couplewanted right over here!"