§ 50 Calling a Spade a Spade
A Christmas entertainment was being planned in a remote Nevada town. The affair was to take place at the church, and the local Sunday school superintendent, a mild and gentle man, with a temperamental Adam’s apple and an aggravated habit of wearing white string ties on week days, had charge. Up until the eleventh hour it looked as though the manager of the show must depend exclusively upon home talent in making up the bill. But late in the afternoon of Christmas eve, as though directed by Providence, a shabby stranger dropped off a passing freight train carrying a slender instrument case under his arm. He sought out the superintendent, introduced himself—modestly—as a distinguished musician on tour and volunteered to take part in the night’s program. Delighted at having enlisted a visiting star from out of the East, the superintendent assigned him the place of honor.
At the proper moment the pleased promoter in his rôle of master of ceremonies, came forth upon the improvised stage and announced that he had a delightful surprise and a wonderful treat for the audience. Prof. Bilbus, a famous clarinet player direct from New York city and at present sojourning temporarily in their midst, would now favor the assembled citizens with a solo. He stepped to one side and from the wings issued the visitor, who bowed low, and then, lifting his instrument to his lips, emitted one of the sourest and most dismal of notes.
In his shock and disappointment a big miner at the back of the house forgot the proprieties.
“Well, the blanketty blank!” he exclaimed in a voice which reached beyond the footlights.
Quivering with indignation the introducer sprang forward again to the centre.
“Wait!” he called out. “Who called the clarinet player a blanketty blank?”
From the audience a third voice was lifted:
“Who called the blanketty blank a clarinet player?”