Crash! Bang! Bang! "_The March of the Pilgrims_" came to an abrupt end. John Lansing Birch laid down his viola and bow, whirled about, and flung out his arms in despair. "Oh, this crowd is hopeless!" he groaned. "Never mind any other instrument, providing _yours_ is heard. This march is supposed to die away in the distance! You murder it in front of the house. That second violin--" The second violin returned his gaze with resentment. "What's the use of my playing like a midsummer zephyr when Just's sawing away like mad on the bass?" she retorted.…
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