"Sure!" says Garvey, swingin' back a Japanese screen and disclosin' a full trap outfit--base drum with cymbals, worked by a foot pedal, xylophone blocks, triangle, and sand boards--all rigged up next to a cabinet music machine. "Well, well!" says I. "All you lack is a leader and Sophie Tucker to screech and you could go on at Reisenwebers." "Isn't it all perfectly fascinating?" says Vee, testin' the drum pedal. "But it's such a common, ordinary thing to do," protests Mrs. Garvey. "Drumming! Why, out in Kansas City I remember that the man who played the traps in our Country Club orchestra worked daytimes as a plumber. He was a poor plumber, at that." "But he was a swell drummer," says Garvey. "I took lessons of him, on the sly. You see, as a boy, the one big ambition in my life was to play the snare drum. But I never had money enough to buy one. I couldn't have found time to play it anyway. And in Kansas City I was too busy trying to be a good sport. Here I've got more time than I know what to do with. More money, too. So I've got the drum, and the rest. I'm here to say, too, that knocking out an accompaniment to some of these new jazz records is more fun than I've ever had all the rest of my life." "I'm sure it must be," says Vee. "Do play once for us, Mr. Garvey. Couldn't I come in on the piano? Let's try that 'Dardanella' thing?" And say, inside of ten minutes they were at it so hard that you'd most thought Arthur Pryor and his whole aggregation had cut loose. Then they did some one-step pieces with lots of pep in 'em, and the way Garvey could roll the sticks, and tinkle the triangle, and keep the cymbals and base drum goin' with his foot was as good to watch as a jugglin' act, even if he does leak a lot on the face when he gets through. "You're some jazz artist, I'll say," says I. "So will the neighbors, I'm afraid," says Mrs. Garvey. "That will sound nice, won't it?" "Oh, blow the neighbors!" says Garvey. "I'm going to do as I please from now on; and it pleases me to do this." "Then we might as well nail up the front door and eat in the kitchen, like we used to," says she, sighin'. But it don't work out that way for them. It was like this: Austin Gordon was pullin' off one of his puppet shows and comes around to ask Vee wouldn't she do some piano playin' for him between the acts and durin' parts of the performance. He'd hoped to have a violinist, too, but the party had backed out. So Vee tells him about Garvey's trap outfit, and how clever he is at it, and suggests askin' him in. "Why, certainly!" says Gordon. So Garvey pulls his act before the flower and chivalry of Harbor Hills. They went wild over it, too. And at the reception afterwards he was introduced all round, patted on the back by the men, and taffied up by the ladies. Even Mrs. Timothy Garvey, who'd been sittin' stiff and purple-faced all the evenin' in a back seat was rung in for a little of the glory.