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Updated: May 28, 2025
We have no right to conclude from this that only the merits and excellences are the true causes of their success. A caustic critic would probably suggest that just the opposite traits are responsible. He would say that the average American is a mixture of business, ragtime, and sentimentality.
I've always been sorry since that I didn't make him take it back it never did anything but harm to me. But he had his way. He laid it on the table and said he wouldn't feel right, and took my hand and I just didn't care. "Well, what do you think I did after he'd gone? I went and played a piece on the piano, and I never can bear to hear that ragtime to this day. I couldn't seem to feel anything.
So, I suppose, if I'm to save my soul, I must gather manna every day, and if I find the value of x to-day, I must find the value of a bigger x to-morrow. Then, too, I suppose I'll have to choose between Mrs. Wiggs and Emerson, between the Katzenjammers and Shakespeare, and between ragtime and grand opera. I am very certain growing corn gives forth a sound only I can't hear it.
The grinding jar of the vessel, the heavy smell of food, and the pound of ragtime combined to produce an effect as of some sordid and demoniac orgy an effect derided by the smug respectability of the saloon's furnishings. Stefan Byrd, taking in the scene as he balanced a precarious way to his seat, felt every hypercritical sense rising in revolt.
The Angel raised his head, and into his eyes came the glow associated with celestial strains. "The tune," he said, "is familiar to me." "Yes, sir," answered his dragoman, "for it is 'The Messiah' in ragtime.
"I should think you were Mr. Cyril Henshaw! Mr. Calderwell is partial to ragtime, I'll admit. But there are some good things he likes." "There are, indeed, some good things he likes," returned Arkwright, with grim emphasis, his somber eyes fixed on what he believed to be the one especial object of Calderwell's affections at the moment.
They sing as they advance. It is a ragtime chorus whose most memorable line runs, "You never seem to kiss me in the same place twice." A jaunty lilt, to be sure, both in tune and in rhythm. Tramp, tramp! The one-eyed leader swerves round a corner, roaring the refrain. His followers swerve too. Suddenly the Matron is encountered, emerging from her room. "Fine afternoon, Matron!"
The Fates decreed that she should not have long to wait. Donald came home from the logging-camp the following Saturday night, and the family, having finished dinner, were seated in the living-room. The Laird was smoking and staring moodily out to sea, Donald was reading, Jane was at the piano softly playing ragtime, and Mrs.
And Baird, with a humor of his own, had retaliated by dragging her to the Astor Roof and to musical plays. "If my eyes are to be opened," he had doggedly declared, "I propose to have some diamonds in the scenery, and a little cheery ragtime, too. You've got a good heart, Deborah Gale, but your head is full of tenements."
His guide led him up a short flight of stairs and turned to the right, down a dimly lighted hall. The ground-floor of the building was used for store purposes. This second floor was evidently a series of apartments. Lights from within the rooms crept over the curtained transoms. Voices sounded; glasses clinked. A piano banged out ragtime like mad. At the fourth door the girl stopped.
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