Professor
Strout was weak in comparison with that vouchsafed to Quincy and Lindy
when they took their seats. In vain did the Professor strive to make
himself heard. Audience and chorus seemed to be of one mind. The
Professor, his face as red as a beet, turned to Ezekiel Pettengill and
said:

"That was a mighty impudent piece of business, don't you think so?"

"They're both mighty fine singers," Ezekiel responded in a rather
unsympathetic tone.

Quincy realized that something must be done to satisfy the demands of
the now thoroughly excited audience. Going to Miss James, he asked her a
question in a low voice, in reply to which she nodded affirmatively. He
next sought Miss Putnam and evidently asked her the same question,
receiving a similar answer. Then he led her forward, and she sang the
opening part of "Listen to the Mocking Bird." After they had sung the
chorus it was repeated on the piano and Quincy electrified the audience
by whistling it, introducing all the trills, staccatos, and roulades
that he had heard so many times come from under Billy Morris's big
mustache at the little Opera House on Washington Street, opposite Milk,
run by the Morris Brothers, Johnny Pell, and Mr. Trowbridge, and when he
finished there flashed through his mind a pleasant memory of Dr. Ordway
and his Aeolians. An encore was responded to, but the tumult still
continued. Turning to Ezekiel, Strout said:

"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 platfor