“The music stopped and one of the fellows put in another nickel. A new record swung up off the turntable and a mellow baritone voice filled the little room.
“‘Crosby,’ said Marie. ‘He’s sure swell.’
“‘He sure is,’ agreed Roy. ‘He’s about the only singer I like. I hate singers. They ought to have on skirts. But not that guy. He’s got a real voice and I hear he’s right all the way.'”
W.R. Burnett, High Sierra
Terry Teachout on the arts in New York City
