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“Oh yes! The town's just full of talent. The Knights of Pythias put on a dandy minstrel show last year.”

“It's nice you're so enthusiastic.”

“Oh, do you really think so? Lots of folks jolly me for trying to get up shows and so on. I tell them they have more artistic gifts than they know. Just yesterday I was saying to Harry Haydock: if he would read poetry, like Longfellow, or if he would join the band — I get so much pleasure out of playing the cornet, and our band-leader, Del Snafflin, is such a good musician, I often say he ought to give up his barbering and become a professional musician, he could play the clarinet in Minneapolis or New York or anywhere, but — but I couldn't get Harry to see it at all and — I hear you and the doctor went out hunting yesterday. Lovely country, isn't it. And did you make some calls? The mercantile life isn't inspiring like medicine. It must be wonderful to see how patients trust you, doctor.”

“Huh. It's me that's got to do all the trusting. Be damn sight more wonderful 'f they'd pay their bills,” grumbled Kennicott and, to Carol, he whispered something which sounded like “gentleman hen.”