Harris has a fixed idea that he can sing a comic song; the fixed idea, on the contrary, among those of Harris's friends who have heard him try, is that he can't, and never will be able to, and that he ought not to be allowed to try.
When Harris is at a party and is asked to sing, he replies: "Well, I can only sing a comic song, you know"; and he says it in a tone that implies that his singing of that, however, is a thing that you ought to hear once, and then die.
"Oh, that is nice," says the hostess. "Do sing one, Mr. Harris," and Harris gets up and makes for the piano, with the beaming cheeriness of a generous-minded man who is just about to give somebody something.
"Now, silence, please, everybody," says the hostess, turning round; "Mr. Harris is going to sing a comic song!"
"Oh, how jolly!" they murmur; and they hurry in from the conservatory, and come up from the stairs, and go and fetch each other from all over the house, and crowd into the drawing-room, and sit round, all smirking in anticipation.
Then Harris begins.

License information: nan
MPAA: G
Go to source: http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/11250/pg11250.html