To be sure, the evening air was a trifle warm.
"And now," said Dan Anderson, after a while, "it's got Tom.

Now, why couldn't it have been a man-Dago to sing that air into the tuneful horn of the mechanical heavenly maid yonder?
No reason, only it's got to be a woman to sing that man's song of 'Annie Laurie.' A man couldn't any more sing 'Annie Laurie' than you could make cocktails without bitters.
The only way we can get either one of them here is in bulk, which we have done.

It's canned Art, that's all.

Owin' to our present transportation facilities, everything has to come here in cans." Dan Anderson arose and stretched out his arm.

"Gentlemen," said he, "I present to you Art!" He raised before him an imaginary glass, which we all saw plainly.