He wasn’t taking any chances. On the Saturday and Sunday we practically lived in a beastly little music-room at the offices of the publishers whose songs he proposed to use. A little chappie with a hooked nose sucked a cigarette and played the piano all day. Nothing could tire that lad. He seemed to take a personal interest in the thing.
Gussie would clear his throat and begin:
“There’s a great big choo-choo waiting at the deepo.”
The Chappie ( playing chords ): “Is that so? What’s it waiting for?”
Gussie ( rather rattled at the interruption ): “Waiting for me.”
The Chappie ( surprised ): “For you?”
Gussie ( sticking to it ): “Waiting for me-e-ee!”
The Chappie ( sceptically ): “You don’t say!”
Gussie : “For I’m off to Tennessee.”
The Chappie ( conceding a point ): “Now, I live at Yonkers.”
He did this all through the song. At first poor old Gussie asked him to stop, but the chappie said, No, it was always done. It helped to get pep into the thing. He appealed to me whether the thing didn’t want a bit of pep, and I said it wanted all the pep it could get. And the chappie said to Gussie, “There you are!” So Gussie had to stand it.
The other song that he intended to sing was one of those moon songs. He told me in a hushed voice that he was using it because it was one of the songs that the girl Ray sang when lifting them out of their seats at Mosenstein’s and elsewhere. The fact seemed to give it sacred associations for him.