of Brinstead, will take great pleasure in escorting to my home' You get the idea? Not bad!"
Again I applauded, resolving that for once the Honourable George would be suitably attired even if I had to bully him. And so was launched what promised to be Red Gap's most notable social event of the season. The Honourable George, being consulted, promised after a rather sulky hesitation to act as the great artist's escort, though he persisted in referring to him as "that piano Johnny," and betrayed a suspicion that Belknap-Jackson was merely bent upon getting him to perform without price.
"But no," cried Belknap-Jackson, "I should never think of anything so indelicate as asking him to play. My own piano will be tightly closed and I dare say removed to another room."
At this the Honourable George professed to wonder why the chap was desired if he wasn't to perform. "All hair and bad English—silly brutes when they don't play," he declared. In the end, however, as I have said, he consented to act as he was wished to. Cousin Egbert, who was present at this interview, took somewhat the same view as the Honourable George, even asserting that he should not attend the recital.
"He don't sing, he don't dance, he don't recite; just plays the piano. That ain't any kind of a show for folks to set up a whole evening for," he protested bitterly, and he went on to mention various theatrical pieces which he had considered worthy, among them I recall being one entitled "The Two Johns," which he regretted not having witnessed for several years, and another called "Ben Hur," which was better than all the piano players alive, he declared.
