We had a very uneasy dinner, during which we were unable to discuss business owing to the presence of the ladies. Afterward the general and I withdrew with our coffee--he did not drink at home, so I missed the clarity which always accompanied his indulgence--and were deep in figures and calculations when Winifred summoned us hastily. "General, Mr Weener, come quickly! Mama ..." We hurried into the living room, I for one anticipating Mama if not in the throes of a stroke at least in a faint. But she was standing upright before the open fire, an unsheathed cavalry saber in her hand. It was clearly a family relic, for from its guard dangled the golden tassel of the United States Army and on its naked blade were little spots of rust, but it looked dangerous enough as she warned us off with a sweep of it. In her other hand I recognized the bulky manuscript of George Thario's First Symphony which she was burning, page by page. "Some damned impostor," she said. "Some damned impostor." "Harriet," protested the general, "Harriet, please ... the boy's work ... only copy ..." She fed another leaf to the fire. "... impostor ..." "Harriet--" he advanced toward her, but she waved him away with the sharp blade--"can't burn George's work this way ... gave his life ..." I had not thought highly of Joe's talents as a musician, believing them byandlarge to be but reflections of his unfortunate affectations. I think I can say I appreciate good music and Ive often taken a great deal of pleasure from hearing a hotelband play Rubinstein's Melody in F, or like classical numbers, during mealtimes. But even if Joe's symphony was but a series of harsh and disjointed sounds, I thought its destruction a dreadful thing for Mama to do and the more shocking, aside from any question of artistic taste, because of its reversal of all we associate with the attitude of true motherhood. "Mrs Thario," I protested, "as your son's friend I beg you to consider--" "Impudence," declared Mama, pointing the sword at me so that I involuntarily backed up although already at a respectful distance. "Damned impudence," she repeated, feeding another page to the fire. "Came into my house, bold as brass and said, 'Cream if you please.' Ha! I'll cream him, I will!" And she made a violent gesture with the saber as though skewering me upon its length. I whispered to Constance, who was standing closest, that her mother had undoubtedly lost her reason and should be forcibly restrained. Unhappily the old lady's keen ears caught my suggestion.