Vic."

"The only record I have with me," explained the phonograph, "is one the
Magician attached just before we had our quarrel. It's a highly
classical composition."

"A what?" inquired Scraps.

"It is classical music, and is considered the best and most puzzling
ever manufactured. You're supposed to like it, whether you do or not,
and if you don't, the proper thing is to look as if you did.
Understand?"

"Not in the least," said Scraps.

"Then, listen!"

At once the machine began to play and in a few minutes Ojo put his
hands to his ears to shut out the sounds and the cat snarled and Scraps
began to laugh.

"Cut it out, Vic," she said. "That's enough."

But the phonograph continued playing the dreary tune, so Ojo seized the
crank, jerked it free and threw it into the road. However, the moment
the crank struck the ground it bounded back to the machine again and
began winding it up. And still the music played.

"Let's run!" cried Scraps, and they all started and ran down the path
as fast as they could go. But the phonograph was right behind them and
could run and play at the same time. It called out, reproachfully:

"What's the matter? Don't you love classical music?"

"No, Vic," said Scraps, halting. "We will passical the classical and
preserve what joy we have left. I haven't any nerves, thank goodness,
but your music makes my cotton shrink."

"Then turn over my record. There's a rag-time tune on the other side,"
said the machine.

"What's rag-time?"

"The opposite of classical."

"All right," said Scraps, and turned over the record.

The phonograph now began to play a jerky jumble of sounds which proved
so bewildering that after a moment Scraps stuffed her patchwork apron
into the gold horn and cried: "Stop--stop! That's the other extreme.
It's extremely bad!"

Muffled as it was, the phonograph played on.

"If you don't shut off that music I'll smash your record," threatened
Ojo.

The music stopped, at that, and the machine turned its horn from one to
another and said with great indignation: "What's the matter now? Is it
possible you can't appreciate rag-time?"

"Scraps ought to, being rags herself," said the cat; "but I simply
can't stand it; it makes my whiskers curl."

"It is, indeed, dreadful!" exclaimed Ojo, with a shudder.

"It's enough to drive a crazy lady mad," murmured the Patchwork Girl.
"I'll tell you what, Vic," she added as she smoothed out her apron and
put it on again, "