Some years ago after a concert by the Flonzaley Quartet in a small U. S. town, a man in the audience rushed up to the second violinist and said: "Beautiful, but not like old times." "What do you mean?" asked the second violinist, bewildered. "You should have heard Mr. Flonzaley himself at the head of this quartet, his bowing, his musical feeling!" The second violinist bowed his head. "Yes, we never could come up to the old man," he murmured.
The second violinist was courteous, but the misguided show-off had blundered. He might...
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