Old Fogy Part 8

That gentleman looked very much embarra.s.sed.

"Oh, of course, doctor, of course; Mr. Blink was carried away, you know--carried away by his professional enthusiasm--no offense intended, I am sure, Mr. Blink."

By this time Mr. Blink had been pulled down in his seat by Mr.

Sanderson, the critic of the _Skyrocket_, and order was restored.

The cla.s.s seemed disappointed as Dr. Nopkin proceeded: "As I was saying when interrupted by my Wagnerian a.s.sociate, the young man went to Thalberg and played an original composition called the _Tornado Galop_.

It was written exclusively for the black keys, and a magnificent _glissando_, if I do flatter myself, ended the piece most brilliantly.

Thalberg--it was in the year '57, if I remember aright."

"You do," remarked the cla.s.s in pleasing tune.

"Thank you, gentlemen, I see dates are not your weak point. Thalberg remarked--"

"For goodness sake give us a rest on Thalberg!" said the irrepressible Blink.

"A rest, yes, a _fermata_ if you wish," retorted the doctor, and the witticism was received with a yell, in the Doric mode. You see Rheinberger had not quite sapped the sense of humor of Mr. Quelson's young acolytes.

Considerably pleased with himself Dr. Nopkin continued:

"Thalberg said to the young man, 'Honored sir, there is too much wind in your work, give your Tornado more earth, and less air.' Now the point of this amiable criticism is applicable to your work now and in the future.

Give your readers little wind, but much soil. Do not indulge in fine writing, but facts, facts, facts!" Here the speaker paused and glanced severely at his colleagues, who awoke with a start. The ear of the music critic is very keen and long practice enables him to awaken at the precise moment the music ceases.

Then Dr. Nopkin announced that the examinations would begin, and again from a tapped bell sounded the triad of B flat minor. The cla.s.s looked unhappy, and the young fellow from Missouri burst into tears. For a moment a wave of hysterical emotion surged through the hall, and there being so much temperament present it seemed as if a crisis was at hand.

Mr. Quelson rose to the occasion. Crying aloud in a ma.s.sive voice, he asked:

"Gentlemen, give me the low pitch A!"

Instantly the note was sounded; even the weeping pupil hummed it through his tears, and a panic was averted by the coolness of a ma.s.sive brain fertile in expedients.

The committee, now thoroughly awake, looked gratified, and the examination began.

After glancing through the list, Dr. Nopkin called aloud:

"Mr. Hogwin, will you please tell me the date of the death of Verdi?"

"Don't let him jolly you, Hoggy, old boy," sang the cla.s.s in an immaculate minor key. The doctor was aghast, but Mr. Quelson took the part of his school. He argued that the question was a misleading one.

They wrangled pa.s.sionately over this, and Blink finally declared that if Verdi was not dead he ought to be. This caused a small riot, which was appeased by the cla.s.s singing the _Anvil Chorus_.

"Well, I give in, Mr. Quelson; perhaps my friend Blink would like to put a few questions." Dr. Nopkin fanned himself vigorously with an old and treasured copy of Dwight's _Journal of Music_, containing a criticism of his "pa.s.sionate octave playing." Mr. Blink arose and took the list.

"I see here," he said, "the name of Beckmesser McGillicuddy. The name is a promising one. Wagner ever desired the Celt to be represented in his scheme of the universe."

"Obliging of him," insinuated Mr. Tile of the _Daily Bulge_.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," groaned poor Quelson; "think of the effect on the cla.s.s if this spirit of irreverent repartee is maintained."

"Mr. Beckmesser McGillicuddy, will you please stand up?" requested Mr.

Blink.

"Stand up, Gilly! Stand up Gilly, and show him what you are. Don't be afraid, Gilly! We will see you through," chanted the cla.s.s with an amazing volume of tone and in lively rhythm.

The young man arose. He was 6 feet 8, with a 17 waist, and a 12-1/2 neck. Yet he looked intelligent. The cla.s.s watched him eagerly, and the Missouri member, now thoroughly recovered, whistled the Fate-motif from _Carmen_, and McGillicuddy looked grateful.

"You wish to become a music critic, do you not?" inquired Mr. Blink, patronizingly.

"What do you think I'm here for?" asked the student, in firm, cool tones.

"Tell me, then, did Wagner ever wear paper collars?"

"Celluloid," was the quick answer, and the cla.s.s cheered. Mr. Quelson looked unhappy, and Tile sneered in a minor but audible key.

"Good," said Mr. Blink. "You'll do. Would any of my colleagues care to question this young and promising applicant, who appears to me to have thoroughly mastered modern music?"

Little Mr. Slehbell arose, and the cla.s.s again trembled. They had read his _How to See Music Although a Deaf Mute_, and they knew that there were questions in it that could knock them out. The critic secured the list, and after hunting up the letter K, he coughed gently and asked:

"Mr. Krap is here, I hope?"

"Get into line, Billy Krap; get into line, Billy. Give him as good as he gives you; so fall into line, Billy Krap."

This was first sung by the cla.s.s with antiphonal responses, then with a fugued finale, and Mr. Slehbell was considerably impressed.

"I must say," he began, "even if you do not become s.h.i.+ning lights as music critics, you are certainly qualified to become members of an Opera Company. But where is Mr. Krap--a Bohemian, I should say, from his name."

"Isn't Slehbell marvellous on philology?" said Sanderson, and Dr. Nopkin looked shocked.

No Krap stood up, so the name of Flatbush was called. He, too, was absent, and Mr. Quelson explained in exasperated accents that these two were his prize pupils, but had begged off to umpire a game of Gregorian-chant cricket down in the village. "Ask for Palestrina McVickar," said Mr. Quelson, in an eager stage whisper.

The new man proved to be a wild-looking person, with hair on his shoulders, and it was noticeable that the cla.s.s gave him no choral invitation to arise. He looked formidable, however, and you could have heard an E string snap, so intense was the silence.

"Mr. McVickar, you are an American, I presume?"

"No, sir; I am an Australian, I am happy to say." A slight groan was heard from the lips of an austere youth with a Jim Corbett pompadour.

"You may groan all you like," said McVickar, fiercely; "but Fitzsimmons licked him and that blow in the solar plexus--"

Mr. Slehbell raised his hands deprecatingly.

"Really, young gentlemen, you seem very well posted on sporting matters.

What I wish to ask you is whether you think Dvorak's later, or American manner, may be compared to Brahms' second or D minor piano concerto period?"

"He doesn't know Brahms from a bull's foot," roared the cla.s.s, in unison. "Ask him who struck Billy Patterson?" Once more the quick eye of Mr. Quelson saw an impending rebellion, and quickly rus.h.i.+ng among the malcontents he bundled five of them out of the room and returned to the platform, murmuring:

"Such musical temperaments, you know; such very great temperaments!"

Incidentally, he had rid himself of five of the most ignorant men of the cla.s.s. Quelson was really very diplomatic.

McVickar hesitated a moment after silence had been restored, and then answered Mr. Slehbell's question: