At least promenade up and
down once with me."

So Azalea came, laughingly, and the two walked grandiloquently into the
focus of the camera.

"And there is a man making phonograph records," young Gale went on.
"Come over there, Zaly, and we'll have a joust of words, and record it
on the sands of time!"

"What do you mean?" asked Azalea, interestedly, for she had no knowledge
of some of the performances going on.

She went with Raymond and found a crowd waiting at the booth where the
phonograph man was doing business. His plan was to make a record for any
customer who cared to sing, recite or soliloquise for him. Mothers
gladly brought their infant prodigies to "speak pieces" and went away
proudly carrying the records that could be played in their homes for
years to come. Aspiring young singers made records of their favourite
songs. One young girl played the violin for a record.

Taking their turn, Raymond and Azalea had what he called an impromptu
scrap. A few words of instruction were enough for Azalea's dramatic
instinct to grasp his meaning, and they had a lively tiff followed by a
sentimental "making-up" that was good enough for a vaudeville
performance, and which Azalea knew would greatly amuse Patty and Bill
when they should hear the record.

"Oh, what fun!" Azalea cried, "I never heard of such a thing. I want to
make a lot of records. I'm going to make one of Baby!"

She ran into the house and up to the nursery where Winnie was just
giving the child her dinner. "Goody!" cried Azalea, "now she'll be
good-natured! Let me take her, Winnie."

Not entirely with Winnie's sanction, but in spite of her half-expressed
disapproval, Azalea took the laughing child and ran back to the
phonograph booth.

"Let me go in ahead of you people, won't you, please?" she begged, and
the waiting line fell back to accommodate her.

But alas for her hopes. She wanted the baby to coo and gurgle in the
delightful little way that Fleurette had in her happiest moments.

Instead, frightened by the strangeness of the scene and the noise and
laughter of the people all about, Fleurette set up a wail of woe which
developed rapidly into a storm of screams and sobs,--indeed, it was a
first-class crying spell,--a thing which the good-natured child rarely
indulged in.

Not willing to wait for a better-tempered moment, the man took the
record and poor little Fleurette was immortalised by a squall instead
of a sunny burst of laughter.