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"
"You're a queer young man. As to price?"
"Whatever you choose."
"You're a very queer young man. Are you a B-flat trombone player?"
"I collect 'em," said Average Jones.
"References?" said the old lady abruptly and with suspicion.
"All varieties," replied her prospective lodger cheerfully. "I will
bring 'em to-morrow with my grip."
For five successive evenings thereafter Average Jones sat in the
senile house, awaiting personal response to the following
advertisement which he had inserted in the Universal:
WANTED--B-flat trombonist. Must
have had experience as street player.
Apply between 8 and 10 p. m. R--,
300 East 100th Street.
Between the ebb and flow of applicant musicians he read exhaustively
upon the unallied subjects of trombones and high explosives, or
talked with his landlady, who proved to be a sociable person, not
disinclined to discuss the departed guest. "Ransom," his supplanter
learned, had come light and gone light. Two dress suit cases had
sufficed to bring in all his belongings.


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