The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1881-03-26
sI'll do the best 1 CAM he said.

s'I'll do the best can," he said.
There was no stool, but Selling candle
| box, he drew it up and seated himself be.
fore the instrument. 1t only required few
| seconds for a hush to come over the room
| That old coon is going to give the thing
rattle''
The sight of man at the piano was some
| thing so unusual that even the faro-dealer,
| who was about to take in a fifty-dollar bet
on the tray, paused, and did not reach for
the money. Men stopped drinking, with
their glasses at their lips. Conversation
appeared to have been struck with sort of
paralysis, and cards were no longer
| shuffled.
The old man brushed back his long, white
locks, looked up to the ceiling, half closed
his eyes, and in mystic sort of reverie
| passed his fingers over the keys. He touched
| but single note, yet the sound thrilled
| the room. 1t was the key to his improvisa-
| ton, and as he wove his cords together the
| mnsic laid its spell upon every ear and heart
He felt his way along the keys, like man
treading uncertain paths; but he gained
confidence as he progressed, and presently
bent to his work like master The instru-
| ment was not in exact tune, but the ears of
his audience, through long dsuse did not
detect anything radically wrong They
heard succession of grand chords, sug-
gestion of paradise, melodies here and there,
aud it was enough.
"See him counter with his leftw said an
old rough, enraptured.
HE calls the turn every time ON the up
per end of the board" responded man
with stack of chips in his hand.
The player wandered off into the old bal
lads he had heard at home. All the sad and
melancholy and touching songs, that came
up like dreams of childhood, this unknown
player drew from the keys. His hand
kneaded their hearts like dough. and
squeezed out the tears as from wet sponge.
AS the strains flowed one upon the other,
they saw their homes of the long ago reared
again; they were playing once more where
the apple blossoms sank through the soft
air to join the violets ON the green turf of
the old New England States; they saw the
glories Of the Wisconsin naples and the
haze of the Indian Summer blending their
hues together; they saw the heather of the
Scottish hills. the white cliffs of the Briton,
and heard the sullen roar of the sea as it
beat upon their memories vaguely.
Then came all the old Christmas carols,
such as they had sung in church thirty
years before; the subtle music that brings
up the glimmer of wax tapers, the solemn
shrines, the evergreen, holly, mistletoe and
surpliced choirs. Then the remorseless per-
former planted his final stab in every heart
with Home, Sweet Home"
When the player ceased the crowd skunk
away from him. There was no more revel-
ry and element left in his audience. Each
man wanted to sneak off to his cabin and
write the old folks letter. The day was
breaking as the last man left the place, and
the player, laying his head down on the
81 say, pard," said Goskin, "don't you
want little rest?'
II feel tired" the old man said. "Per-
haps you'll let me rest here for the matter
of day or so?"
He walked behind the bar, where some
old blankets were lying, and stretched him
self upon them.
81 feel pretty sick. guess l won't last
long. I've got brother down in the ravine
here. Can't you get him before morning?
I'd like to see his face once more before
die"
Geskin started up at the mention of the
name. He knew Driscoll well.
''He your brother? Pll have him here
in half an hour"
As he dashed out into the storm, the mu-
sician pressed his hand to his side and
groaned. Goskin heard the word 'sHurryv
and sped down the ravine to Driscolps
cabin.
1t was quite light in the room when the
two men returned. Driscoll was pale as
death.
my God! hope he's alive! wronged
him when we lived in England, twenty
years ago.
They saw the old man had drawn the
blankets over his face. The two stood
moment, awed by the thought that he
might be dead. Goskin lifted the blanket
and pulled it down astonished. There was
no one there!
Gomez cried Driscoll, wildly.
'GoneH' echoed Goskin, pulling out his
cash drawer. Ten thousand dollars in the
sack, and the Lord knows how much loose
change in the drawerp'
The next day the boys got out, followed a
horses tracks through the snow, and lost
them in the trail leading toward Phoebe.
There was man missing from the camp.
1t was the three-card monte man, who used
to deny point blank that he could play the
scale. One day they found a wig of white
hair, and called to mind when the "stran-
ger'' had pushed those locks back when he
looked toward the ceiling for inspiration, on
the night of December "a, 1861.