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Albans, as a Roman Youth. Chromoed as a Christmas card by Prang, and photograph copies everywhere. You're all right, Barker." One night Miss Swan said, in rapture with some momentary success, "Oh, I'm perfectly in love with this head!" Berry looked up from his banjo, which he ceased to strum. "Hello, hello, hel-lo!" Then the two broke into a laugh, in which Lemuel helplessly joined.
That was the hour set for him to go. "Silver Threads" was saved for the end, and when its last strain died Mrs. Chadron's face was hidden in her hands. She was rocking gently, her handkerchief fallen to the floor. Banjo put his bow in its place in the lid of the case, the rosin in its little box.
You bought a ticket and a gasolene launch took you up the lake. Then the men wore smart flannels and the girls new summer clothes. In the evenings one sang and played a banjo, another a mandolin." Thirlwell laughed. "You don't like music?" "I love it; but not ragtime and modern coon songs in the bush.
I like to have a husband disguise himself as a German maestro, and musically make out why his wife is so zealous in studying with him, and I do not mind in the least having the sketch close without reason: it leaves something to my imagination. Two of 'America's Leading Banjoists' charmed me next, for, after all, there is nothing like the banjo.
Here in the United States he has quickened the pulse beats of four generations. But this master creator of a country's only native songs has invariably here at home been apologized for as a sort of 'cornfield musician, a mere banjo strummer, a hanger-on at barrooms where minstrel quartets rendered his songs and sent the hat round.
There was no man about the place except crippled old Alvino, and wounded Dalton lying in the men's quarters near at hand. Neither of them was serviceable in such an emergency, and Banjo, willing as he would be, seemed too badly hurt to be of any use. Frances pressed her to dismiss this intention. Even if they knew which way to ride, it would be a hopeless pursuit.
"But I'm working on it. Lot of good music around town, good musicians showing up. I've got a little recording studio in back." "Do you play?" "Very well," Heidi said. "Not much," Martin said. "Fiddle. Banjo." Patrick imagined him playing the fiddle. He had large hands. "My dad plays the fiddle." Martin was like a softer version of his dad, tall and thin. Heidi was watching him closely.
In the meantime Mr. Bradford had long since laid aside the banjo, and was basking in Miss Proctor's unshared attention. The pleased smile never left his face; the lean of his head bespoke deep deference; the curve of his body respectful devotion. He talked in a low voice, and every moment or so Miss Proctor would giggle, or exclaim, "Oh, Mr. Bradford!" in a pleased and reproving voice.
Banjo was under obligation to Macdonald for no smaller matter than his life, the homesteader having rescued him from drowning the past spring when the musician, heading for Chadron's after playing for a dance, had mistaken the river for the road and stubbornly urged his horse into it.
I thought you were the only one to get anything by this, I was resolving always to carry a banjo with me." "Why, I guess they'll be upstairs, I can't for the life of me see why this was left down here. But I don't care, I've no fault to find with the arrangement. Now, we'll have to wait awhile." We all sat down and waited for about ten minutes.
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