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Updated: May 5, 2025
For five successive evenings thereafter Average Jones sat in the senile house, awaiting personal response to the following advertisement which he had inserted in the Universal: WANTED B-flat trombonist. Must have had experience as street player. Apply between 8 and 10 p. m. R , 300 East 100th Street.
And they say drowning is a delightful sensation." "Many like her here?" asked Merriam. "Not anywhere," said Bibb, with a comfortable sigh. She's the only white woman in La Paz. The rest range from a dappled dun to the colour of a b-flat piano key. She's been here a year.
I will go and tend my geese." So the Aldermen took the high Soprano Singer, and they consulted the Wise Woman again. She was taking a nap this time, and the Singer had to sing up to B-flat before she could wake her. Then she was very cross and the Black Cat put up his back and spit at the Aldermen.
Canvass of the local trucking industry brought to light the conveyor of that elegant article of furniture. It had gone, Average Jones learned, not to the mansion of the Honorable William Linder, as he had fondly hoped, but to an obscure address not far from the Navy Yard in Brooklyn. To this address, having looked up and gathered in the B-flat trombonist, Average Jones led the way.
"I don't know Kennard Street. I know only to play the B-flat trombone." "Kennard Street. In Brooklyn. Where the fat gentleman told you to stop, and fell out of the window." A look of fear overspread the worn and innocent face. "I don't go there no more. The po-lice, they take there." "But you had gone there before?" "Not to play; no." "Not to play? Are you sure?" The German considered painfully.
"Only a quack medical concern looking for a stall to impress their come-ons," explained Waldemar. Average Jones leaned over to scan the paper in his turn. "Here's one," said he, and read: WANTED Performer on B-flat trombone. Can use at once. Apply with instrument, after 1 p. m. 300 East 100th Street. "That seems ordinary enough," said Waldemar. "What's it doing in a daily paper?
When Mozart was in Vienna, about 1786, Madame Schlick was also there, and solicited him to write something for the piano and violin, which they should play together at a concert. Mozart willingly promised to do so, and accordingly composed and arranged, in his mind, his beautiful sonata in B-flat minor, for piano and violin.
Arbuthnot, otherwise Ransom?" said Average Jones blandly. The man's chin jerked back. His jaw dropped. "Would you like to hire another B-flat trombonist?" pursued the young man. "Who are you?" gasped the other. "What do you want?"
"Not to play my B-flat trombone?" asked the other, innocently hurt. "The other gent he make play here always." "Did he?" drawled Average Jones. "And he er listened?" "He listened from out there." The musician pointed to the other room. "How long?" "Different times," was the placid reply. "But he was always in the other room." "Always. And I play Egypt. Like this."
There was absolutely no proof against him, except that he was in the street below. Besides, he seemed quite lacking mentally." "Mightn't that have been a sham?" "Alienists, of good standing examined him. They reported him just a shade better than half-witted. He was like a one-ideaed child, his whole being comprised in his ability, and ambition to play his B-flat trombone."
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