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Updated: June 17, 2025
'We dropped it here!" He earned a living, we gathered, "some considerable way above the minimum wage," which threw a chance light on the labour problem by perforating records for automatic musical machines no doubt of the Pianotist and Pianola kind and he spent all the leisure he could gain in going to and fro in the earth lecturing on "The Need of a Return to Nature," and on "Simple Foods and Simple Ways."
Waythorn was exasperated by his own paltriness, but the fact of the tie expanded, forced itself on him, became as it were the key to Alice's past. He could see her, as Mrs. Haskett, sitting in a "front parlor" furnished in plush, with a pianola, and a copy of "Ben Hur" on the centre-table.
Bowse, a something not usually awakened by inopportune callers, an actual suggestion of the possible fact that she was not as indifferent as she was nervous, somewhat awakened Mr. Hutchinson's curiosity. "Look here," he volunteered," if he's got any real business, he can't talk over to the tune of the pianola you can bring him up here, Tembarom.
She ran straight into the living-room and stopped in the middle of the floor. Her arms were full of the flowers she had pulled down from "Nigger Baby's" neck. "What did you want to bring in all that truck ?" Miss Blake began, rising from the pianola, then stopped. "What's the matter with you?" she asked. "Did your young man find you? I sent him up the trail." Her red eyes sparkled.
A big gas-fire was soon glowing in the handsome old fire-place, the panelled room seemed cosy. While Jim was handing round drinks and sandwiches, and Josephine was making tea, Robert played Bach on the piano the pianola, rather. The chairs and lounge were in a half-circle round the fire. The party threw off their wraps and sank deep into this expensive comfort of modern bohemia.
Mr. Britling sat down to a pianola in the corner and began the familiar cadences of "Whistling Rufus." "You dance?" said Miss Cecily Corner. "I've never been much of a dancing man," said Mr. Direck. "What sort of dance is this?" "Just anything. A two-step." Mr. Direck hesitated and regretted a well-spent youth, and then Hugh came prancing forward with outstretched hands and swept her away.
A half hour later, while I was hiding behind the pianola in the living room, not daring to breathe above a whisper for fear I would get my picture taken again, friend wife rushed in exclaiming, "Oh, joy! Oh, joy! John, I have developed two pictures!" I wish you could have seen the expression on Peaches' face.
I always think of you when I hear good music, and of your face when I told you that the only music I really liked was Scots songs played on the pianola! But you know that is really true. I simply hate good music.
She flitted to my colour prints and my little case of books. Then she went to the pianola. I watched her intently. "Does this thing play?" she said. "What?" I asked. "Does this thing play?" I roused myself from my preoccupation. "Like a musical gorilla with fingers all of one length. And a sort of soul.... It's all the world of music to me." "What do you play?"
The proprietor of the bankrupt boarding-house had been "artistic." But Mrs. Bowse was a good-enough soul whose boarders liked her and her house, and when the gas was lighted and some one played "rag-time" on the second-hand pianola, they liked the parlor.
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