He ended magnificently by blaming Brian for the disorder of the studio.

There were handles everywhere.

And Brian in an exuberance of amiability had broken a statuette.

Likely Whitaker would see even in that some form of paternal oppression.
"Whitaker," flung out Kenny indignantly, "Brian plays but one instrument in this studio and we have a dozen.

Wasn't it precisely like him to pick out that damned psaltery there with the crooked stick?
I mean--wasn't it like him to pick out something with a fiendish appendage that could be lost, and keep the studio in an uproar when he wanted to play it ?" Whitaker laughed in spite of himself.