The log cabin Democrat. [volume] (Conway, Ark.) 1901-1982, 1908-08-06
Padgett's Reedville Quartette
BY LLOYD DORSEY WILLIS
Copyright, by shortstory Pub. Coz

marsh, framed in by the three walls
of the stage. Water could be seen at
the base of the reeds, shimmering in
the lamplight. A faint evening breeze
drifted in and stirred the tops of the
reeds and grass.
"A thrill of surprise swept through
the assemblage. What was this?
Where were the musicians? Could
they be hiding in the grasses?
'Padgett did not give them chance
to wonder long. Stepping to the front
of the stage, a large bass viol beneath
his arm, he signaled Ed Mills to put
out the lights.
Do not be frightened, he said, as
the audience stirred uneasily at the
darkness.
"A hush fell upon the gathering
Through the open windows came
indistinctly the ceaseless chorus from
the marsh, Suddenly Padgett sent a
rumbling, long-drawn note from the
viol echoing through the hall,
"As if in answer, a deep bass pud-
er-unk' Sprang into life from the bosom
of the miniature marsh upon the stage.
Another voice, somewhat higher, took
up the note and carried it on a rising
scale to another and yet another. The
last was a metallic, though recogniz-
able, imitation of the tenor.
Again Padgett drew his bow and
softly drifted into the strains of !
Want to be an Angel With increas-
ing volume, the voices in the reeds fol
lowed the familiar tune. They were
harmonious and, though not exactly
like anything ever heard on a stage be-
fore, blended pleasingly to the ear.
Then the audience was speil-bound.
Frogs they whispered. And then, in
aEed silence, sat with open mouths,
drinking in the sounds which came un-
interruptedIy from the direction of the
stage.
After the first few bars, 1t was no.
ticed that the struggling chorus from
the marsh outside dwindled into a few
spasmodic croaks and finally ceased.
Not a sound could be heard except
the insistent strains Of the hymn. AS
the last notes died away there was the
shutting of feet which precedes APP
plause. Padgett neatly checked the
threatening noise by suddenly swing
ing into Maryland, My Maryland with
his four-voiced choir following, so to
speak, at his heels. Again the awed
silence. Without pause, tune after tune
was rendered. The singers seemed to
be carried away with sort of profes-
sional enthusiasm. Along toward the
end of Baby Mine (the singing had
lasted an hour now the baritones
voice broke little. At the end of the
bar, Padgett ran his fingers halfway
down the strings and gave sudden,
fierce lunge to his bow. The viol
screeched wildly, discordantly. The
singers seemed to bite their notes off
and swallow them.
There were four quick plunges in
to the water, ana little waves Tapped
over the tank to the stage. The lights
were on, as if by magic, and wild
cheer went up. The old hall shook
from end to end and seemed ready to
tumble down with the strain.
We'll, Padgett's fame was made
From that time on he was looked up
on as the cutest man about these parts
For miles around, the countryneH
would drive over to hear the frog-quar
tette sing. They would only perform
at night, when everything was quiet
Mostly on Sunday evenings there
would be special concert at Pad
gets. With pardonable pride, the old
man would tell his visitors how he
labored for weeks in the marsh, select
ing just the right voices for his little
band; how he had been disappointed
time and again, and had tried out at
least a thousand frogs before he had
been suited. His greatest trouble, he
said, was in teaching the frogs the
theory of music, and when they should
chime in to fill up the notes required
of them.
The quartette was as healthy a
looking bunch of frogs as l ever saw.
but one of them, Tim the tenor. died
suddenly one day late in the summer.
L JHllh lie SNdlIONtu d young Ndlcl
snake and it poisoned him. The blow
almost broke Padgett's heart, and af-
fected the other members of the band
some too. | guess.
The other three still performed at
times, but it was hard to get in all
the fine notes without Tim. They
were ambitious, Sam. the second tenor,
more than any, and it proved his I'M
doing One night, in trying to scale
a high note which before had been car
ried off easily by Tim, something in
Sans throat snapped. He was so
cut up about the loss of his voice that
he hoped away one night and Joined
his family in the marsh.
Ben, the baritone, and Bill, the bas-
so, quarreled. and never again could
be induced to sing together so they
were turned loose. Ben sang alone
for a while over at the far end of
the marsh.
Zone night his voice was missed A