![]() ![]() I pushed the stile around so I could fit in one of the right angled spaces, and by so doing I registered my fare. She passed through and pushed the contrivance around once and a half ways, so that one of the spokes pointed at me. I had never passed through a turnstile, when my sister paid my fare in a south side elevated station one night at the rush hour. The startled congregation looked at me pityingly, and, embarrassed and disgraced, I went to my seat. ![]() The result of this was a loud blast on the cornet caused by a spasmodic laugh into it. The parrot started in again, and its mistress covered the cage with a cloth, whereupon the parrot yelled with a world of gratitude in its voice. Greatly embarrassed I took up the solo once more. It was with difficulty that I kept on playing, but when a second and more disgusted “Shut up!” came, I broke down completely and laughed, actually laughed, while not a smile showed on a single face in the congregation. I blew the first note and was startled by hearing a disgusted “Shut up!” from the parrot. As I took my position to play, I noticed that I stood beside the cage of a wicked looking parrot. Some years ago I gave a cornet solo at a religious meeting held at the home of a minister whose flock was of the long faced, never smiling variety. Six young men rushed to my rescue and with great difficulty pulled me out while the crowd roared and I blushed furiously. ![]() The seats were folding ones like those in a theater, and as I was standing too near the back of it, the seat flew up, my foot went down, and I couldn’t get it out. I was at a masquerade ball and on account of the large crowd a number of us were standing on the seats in order to see the prizes given out. ![]()
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