Daily picayune., 1908-08-14
Padgett's Rockville Quartette
BY LLOYD DORSEY WILLIS
Copyright, by shortstory Pub. Co.)

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 i 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 az the audience stirred uneasly at the i darkness.
 A hush fell upon the gathering.
 Through the open windows caUe indistinctly the ceaseless chorus from the marsh. Suddenly Padgett sent : 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 PaGgett drew his bow and softly drifted into the strains of I 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 stage be- fore. blended pleasingly to the ear.
 Then the audience was spell-bound.
 Frogs, they whispered. And then in a"ed 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 few spasmodic croaks and finally ceased.
 Not a sound could be heard except tte insistent strains of the hymn. As l the last notes died away there was the shufiling of feet which precedes ap- ] plause. Padgett neatly checked the threatening noise by suddenly swing ing into Maryland, My Maryland with his four-voiced choir following, so to l speak, at his heels. Again the awed i 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 baritone's voice broke a little. At the end of the bar, Padgett ran his fingers halfway l down the strings and gave a sudden, l fierce lunge to his bow. The viol screeched wildly, discordantly. The singers seemed to bite their notes of 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 l cheer went up. The old hall shook l from end to end, and seemed ready td tumble down with the strain.
 Well, Padgetts fame was made 1 From that time on he was looked up on as the cutest man about these parts. For miles around, the countrymen would drive over to hear the frogquar l tette sing. They would only perform at night, when everything was quiet Mostly on Sunday evenings ther6 would be a special concert at Pad l gett's. With pardonable pride, the old man would tell his visitors how he 1 labored for weeks in the marsh. select. ing just the right voices for his little l .l time and again, and had tried out at 1 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 l looking bunch of frogs as I ever saw, | but one of them, Tim the tenor, died suddenly one day late In the summer. l think he swallowed young water snake and it poisoned him. The blow almost broke Padgett's heart, and af. l fected the other members of the band some too, l guess.
 The other three still performed at 1 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 1t proved his un- doing. One night. in trying to scale 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 hopped 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.
 one night his voice was missed. A bttern, which had waded there ths day before, might have told where it was but be didn't There is no lead. CT now but Bill"
 oh