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the middle of Gershwin's peroration on his comparison with Bach.

George, in a rage, said, “I won't ride in the same car with you. Stop the car.” He stopped the car, got out and waved us on. He was purple with rage. Of course I was dying with laughter. Dick said, “What did I do?" I said, “You interrupted Gershwin while he was telling how much he was like Bach. You weren't listening to him. You insulted him by suddenly saying...” Dick said, “But I was on this block this morning.”

Well, he was quite unhappy about Gershwin although he thought that he had done nothing the least bit wrong. We went back to the Ritz Hotel and Dick went to bed and I went to bed. About two hours later, Gershwin burst into my room. He had forgotten that we had been in a part of Boston that pulled in the sidewalks at about eight o'clock at night. He had stood there for about forty minutes, waiting for a taxi cab, getting angrier and angrier; and when he got back to the hotel, he had to get it out of his system so he came to my room and said, “Did you ever see such discourtesy?" The fact that he had waited for forty minutes on the pavement didn't make him feel any better. Of course, it was so petty, but funny, and I finally persuaded George that that was just the way Dick is.

I'll give you another example of Dick's oblivion of the other fellow's ideas. He got furious at me once because I wouldn't go to some college reunion. We had been in the