"I enjoy reading the music," said he as we sat and talked over his plan,
"but sometimes--very often, in fact--I feel as if something ought to
shriek, and I'm going to have an organ of my own to do it for me."
So, as I have said, the organ was contracted for, was built, and an
additional series of trials began. Upon a very important occasion the
organ declined to shriek, although every effort to persuade it to
perform the functions for which it was designed was made. Forty or fifty
very charming people were gathered together to be introduced to the
virtues of the new instrument--for Carson was not the kind of man to
keep to himself the good things which came into his life; he shared all
his blessings, while keeping his woes to himself; a well-known virtuoso
was retained to set forth the possibilities of the acquisition, and all
was going as "merry as a marriage bell" when suddenly there came a
wheeze, and the fingers of the well-known virtuoso were powerless to
elicit the harmonious shrieks which all had come to hear.
It was a sad moment, but Carson was equal to the occasion.
"Something's out of gear," he said, with a laugh due rather to his
philosophical nature than to mirth. "I'm afraid we'll have to finish on
the piano."
* * * * *
And so we did, and a delightful evening we had of it, although many of
us went home wondering what on earth was the matter with the organ.
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