"Those fellows are Sophomores, class of heaven knows what.

_Aren't_ you feeling a fossil.

Father Abraham ?" A banjo chattered on the lawn to the north, and soon a mixed chorus of girls and boys sang from there: "O, 'Arriet, I'm waiting, waiting alone out 'ere." Then a piano across the street sounded the dearthful harmonies of Chopin's Funeral March.
"You may take your choice," remarked Meredith, flicking a spark over the rail in the ash of his cigar, "Chopping or Chevalier." "Chopin, my friend," said the lady who had attached herself to Harkless.

She tapped Tom's shoulder with her fan and smiled, graciously corrective.
"Thank you, Miss Hinsdale," he answered, gratefully.

"And as I, perhaps, had better say, since otherwise there might be a pause and I am the host, we have a wide selection.