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Olga had just opened her mouth, but shut it again. "No," she said. "Once more," and she whistled the motif. "Oh! it's so diffy!" said Lucia beginning again. "Georgie! Turn over!" Georgie turned over, and Lucia counting audibly to herself made an incomparable mess all over the piano. Olga turned to her accompanist. "Shall I try?" she said.
"And who, Mr Georgie," asked Mrs Antrobus presenting her trumpet to him in the manner in which an elephant presents its trunk to receive a bun, "who was that with her?" "Oh, her husband, Mr Shuttleworth," said Georgie. "They have just been married, and are on their honeymoon." And if that was not another staggerer for Lucia, it is diffy, as Georgie would say, to know what a staggerer is.
"Cattivo Mozart to wite anything so dwefful diffy!"
"Is it very diffy?" she asked. "Could I read it, Georgie? Shall I try?" She slid onto the music-stool. "Me to begin?" she asked, finding that Olga had opened the book at the salutation of Brunnhilde, which Lucia had practised so diligently all the morning. She got no answer. Olga standing by her, had assumed a perfectly different aspect.
But, honestly, I wouldn't trade what I learned under Professor Petey Simmons, warm boy and official gadfly to the Faculty, for all the Lat. and Greek and Analit. and Diffy. Cal., and the other studies whatever they were that I took in good old Siwash. You remember Petey, of course.
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