It growls and grumbles and clicks and scratches so it spoils the music, and your machinery rumbles so that the racket drowns every tune you attempt." "That isn't my fault; it's the fault of my records.

I must admit that I haven't a clear record," answered the machine.
"Just the same, you'll have to go away," said Ojo.
"Wait a minute," cried Scraps.

"This music thing interests me.

I remember to have heard music when I first came to life, and I would like to hear it again.

What is your name, my poor abused phonograph ?" "Victor Columbia Edison," it answered.
"Well, I shall call you 'Vic' for short," said the Patchwork Girl.