"
"Wild with joy, I mean," explained the
phonograph. "Listen. This song will prove a
rare treat to you, I know. It made the author
rich--for an author. It is called 'My Lulu.'"
Then the phonograph began to play. A strain
of odd, jerky sounds was followed by these
words, sung by a man through his nose with
great vigor of expression:
"Ah wants mah Lulu, mah coal-black Lulu;
Ah wants mah loo-loo, loo-loo, loo-loo, Lu!
Ah loves mah Lulu, mah coal-black Lulu,
There ain't nobody else loves loo-loo, Lu!"
"Here--shut that off!" cried the Shaggy Man,
springing to his feet. "What do you mean by
such impertinence?"
"It's the latest popular song," declared the
phonograph, speaking in a sulky tone of voice.
"A popular song?"
"Yes. One that the feeble-minded can remember
the words of and those ignorant of music can
whistle or sing. That makes a popular song
popular, and the time is coming when it will take
the place of all other songs."
"That time won't come to us, just yet," said
the Shaggy Man, sternly: "I'm something of a
singer myself, and I don't intend to be throttled
by any Lulus like your coal-black one. I shall
take you all apart, Mr. Phony, and scatter your
pieces far and wide over the country, as a matter
of kindness to the people you might meet if
allowed to run around loose.
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