The Vancouver independent. (Vancouver, W.T. [Wash.]) 1875-1910, 1881-11-17
HIS NEXT ENGAGEMENT.

dience. It is the last night of the season
and the band, sorrowfully, gloomily
every one, from the big drum down to
the piccolo, are playing the National
Anthem over said seasons grave to give
it decent burial. Even the first
fiddle feels out of sorts. The bassoon
has tear drop trembling on his eyelash
and let's it hang there, unsuspicious of
the fact that all the while it glistens Wis
IDLY in a tiny ray from the foot-light.
As for the violoncello next him that cliff
proved, set-faced, hoary-headed veteran
of score or two of pantomimes, surely
this particular pantomime's death
grieves him but little Why should it
whilst he can Irvine his bony left
arm around that old violoncello's neck
as if it lived and loved him; when he
can bend his gray head to its strings and
hear the sweet pathos of their tones;
when he can pass his long, skinny mu-
sician's fingers fondly over them to draw
forth rich, soothing, swelling, falling,
beautiful melody? Why should there be
quavering lip and trembling eyelash,
when the last chord comes?
The chord is struck and over. Out OF
the orchestra, and already on his way
home, is the first violin, the cornet has
brought up in the rear with "cadenza
morando;" the big drum has closed his
last roll the second violin has packed
ND his fiddle case; bassoon and violon-
cello remain alone with the dying light
of the hall.
Dick p said the bassoon, quietly.
| Poor old whjte-faced violoncello never
needed. The left arm in its rusty sleeve
still clasped the instruments neck in
that loving way; the old gray head bent
down over the strings, with the eyes
closed.
"Poor old chap" observed the bas-
soon, pityingly, as he turned up his coat
collar and tucked his instrument case
under his arm. "Blowed if he amt q
playing now"
''Dick" he repeated. tapping the old
violoncello good naturally on the shout.
der. The old man opened his eyes and
awoke to the silence.
"Hallo, Tom Horribly! What-all gone?
/ though" looked around him in
disappointed inquiry, and he spoke in
tone of sadness-'I thought he repeated
that second strain. Well, we'll! How deaf
I'm getting, to be sure!' The rusty black
coat heaved with sigh as it's wearer rose
and shut his music.
"All gone but YOU, Tom?" he said, sor-
rowfully. "Well, I won't deny l thought
they might ha' wished me Good night,
or Good bye or something of the sort.
for the last night; but won't grumble.
An old fellow who's as deaf as post
) and has nobody to mind him amt no
place in an orchestra. He'd better get
out of the road as quick as he can, and
make no fuss about it. Friends amt IN
Nov come, DlcK, old man." expostu-
lated the bassoon, DON go for to speak
like that. You knows there's one chap
as is sorry for you-dash my hide If he
amt! Yes, SAYS I, Dick; count on me
as:yourf' end whenever you like. There's
bed for you, and the same fare as l has
myself, whenever you like to claim EN-
and if we can't find you another sit
somewheres directly, it's pity. Blow
me, it's PITY
"Tom Horribly, you're a good hearted
fellow" returned the violoncello, grate-
fully, as his stolid face relaxed little
before the bassoon's genial smile. IA
useless. old, worn-out blessing like mine
amt much to give anybody" he contin-
ued, but such as it is, Tom, take it to
your kindness; and may you never have
such q black world before you as I've got
now"
They shook hands; the bassoon step
ped through the little narrow door be-
meath the stage, and his companion,
bearing his large, unwieldy violon-
cello. extinguished the last gas-jet as he
followed him.
Good night, Dick; and don't be
down-hesrted, old man. Your next en-
gagement will make amends"
Good. night, Tom Horribly; God bless
YOU"
Again they shook hands; the bassoon
whistled off into the huirying crowd at
the stage door, and violoncelio turned to
face Il Q wind the other way. Out into
the bleak street, where tiny yellow rush.
lights of lamps cast o melancholy glim.
mer or two upon crowds OF hurrying
faces, some fat and round, some red and
we'll favored. all hurrying along through
the little snow dots which the wind blew
about.
Old violoncello buttoned his rusty
coat close, and turned up the collar as II
the wind might find that an obstacle in
| its attacks upon his scrsggy old throat,
whilst he Rugged that dingy big fiddle
of his tight against his body aud settling
his eyes straight before him, dragged
/ his trembling knees in the direction they