The dress rehearsal of a new musical comedy was in progress, and tempers were short. In the midst of the leading lady’s big song there was a horribly discordant blare from the near-sighted man who manipulated the bassoon. The conductor stopped the orchestra and glared at the culprit. “ I’m sorry, sir.” quavered the blushing musician, “ it wasn’t a note —it was a fly.”.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/ESD19390822.2.104
Bibliographic details
Evening Star, Issue 23351, 22 August 1939, Page 10
Word Count
63Untitled Evening Star, Issue 23351, 22 August 1939, Page 10
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