emergency notice, when the night city editor was unmusical. "But,"
he added, "here is something in a more superior vein."

Dr. Nopkin read:

_How I Heard Paderewski!_

"Of course I heard Paderewski. Let me tell you all about it. I had
quarreled with my dear one early in the day over a pneumatic tire, so
I determined to forget it and go listen to some music.

"Music always soothes my nerves.

"Does it soothe yours, gentle reader?

"I went to hear Paderewski.

"Taking the Broadway car, me and my liver--my liver is my worst
enemy; terrible things, livers; is life really worth the liver?--I
sat down and paid my fare to a burly ruffian in a grimy uniform.

"Some day I shall tell you about my adventure with a car. Dear Lord,
what an adventure it was!

"Ah, the bitter-sweet days! the long-ago days when we were young and
trolleyed.

"But let me tell you how Paderewski played!

"After I reached my seat 4000 women cheered. I was the only man in
the house; but being modest, I stood the strain as long as I could,
and then--why, Paderewski was bowing, and I forgot all about the
women and their enthusiasm at the sight of me.

"Fancy a slender-hipped orchidaceous person, an epicene youth with
Botticellian hair and a Nietzsche walk. Fancy ten fluted figures and
then--oh, you didn't care what he was playing--indeed, I mislaid my
program--and then it was time to go home.

"Some day I shall give you my impressions of the Paderewskian
technique, but today is a golden day, the violets are smiling,
because God gave them perfume; a lissome lass is in the foreground;
why should I bother about piano, Paderewski, or technique?

"Dear Lord, dear Lord--!"

Mr. Quelson looked interrogatively at the committee when the doctor
finished.

"The personal note, you know," he said, "the note that is so valued
nowadays in criticism."

"Personal rubbish," grunted the doctor, and Mr. Slehbell joyously
laughed.

"Give us one with more matter and less manner," remarked Mr. Sanderson,
who had quietly but none the less determinedly eaten up all the
sandwiches and drunk seven bottles of beer. Mr. Van Oven, of the
_Morning Fowl_, was, as usual, fast asleep. [This was the manner in
which he composed himself.]

Mr. Quelson handed the doctor the following:

_Solid Musical Meat_