The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, 1894-03-08

| anyone Just yet. But as soon as he was alone
he fell to work agahh The manuscript wa
| quickly copied and thesebRss notes added. Il
seemed to Tony that there were few of them
| but he reflected that no. one can do as much
with his left hand as With his right unless, in
| deed he be left-handed. 81
The whole compositions seemed astonishiugly
| short now that it WAS flnished-it only oc
eupied few bars. bs ,ia7
But Tony wrote "Nootnrne" heavily above
it. and feeling the lack of something in the
upper left hand corner-somethin ending in
| oSo he found, oD referring to his guide and he
| inscribed the word Mdest6so" there, and rose
with burning cheeks.
| Finished at last! How beautiful it looked
| How black the notes 'werei (The blank spaces
made it look as if he had done it all quickly
easilyD How promisingQthos G clsfs were,
and the :" fl" in the adnter! All his own. too
| And some day he would be famous and people
would play this and say: "Whsti Don't you
| know this! It's the MOnaldi Nocturne!"
Tony snatched his hat and his music and ran
| downstairs. He knew where the publisher
| lived. He had been there often with Karl
| He too, would have violin and piano some
| day; he would take his mother away to the
country, where she would get we'll; he would
| mako a fortune. They would never come
back to this house-this house that made peo-
pies heads ache.
As he was passing the Old Lady's door, she
came ont into the hall suddenly shook her
head at Tony, and then kissed him emphatic
ally.
Something in her manner gave the child a
sudden chill of dread.
Poor little thing" she said, quaverngly
ying dying"
Tony knew that she was speaking of his
mother, and in certain terror and desperation
he ran down the steps as fast as his legs would
carry him.
The word dying" conveyed to him new,
strange impression of horror but he felt that if
he could only sell his nocturne and take his
mother away, he could keep this phantom at
bay.
Yes, yes-the nocturne would end all their
troubles; there would be no more illness-no
hunger-no-
He had reached the publishers abode, and
straight to the publisher he ran. breaking in
upon that gentleman's revery and holding out
to him the sheet of paper-forgetting even to
be shy In this new terror. Mine" Tony
gasped; its mine!"
The publisher look ed him. then at the paper,
laughed a great deal and then frowned.
Tony was staring at him in blanks eyed un-
happiness. He knew very we'll that he bad
never intended the necturne to be funny. He
was struck dumb with bitter amazement
Take it away" said the man. Il am very
busy; don't interrupt me-"
Tony grasped tho paper and then suddenly
sobbed aloud in the anguish of his overcharged
soul.
Mother2" questioned the publisher, not un-
kindly. What's the matter2"
"Dip--dip"-
"Dipththeria?" prompted the busy man.
" Here; run along now" and, handing him
dime. he pushed the broken hearted composer
from his sanctum
Karl Lanzberg, coming home at dusk, found
the child crouching by the window, in his own
room, feversh and half-deirious. The Monadi
Nocturne had failed to accomplish its mission,
for Tony's mother was dead, and the boy him
self had symptoms Of the mysterious illness
with the unpleasant name.
The Old Lady who owned the melodeon and
who had praised Tony ieomp position, was the
only one who could have told Karl anything
about that effort; but such old ladies forget
quite easily, and the little composer that week
took very long journey indeed-and never
came back to tell Karl about it,
But it came to pass, by the irony of Fate,
that one day, years after, when Karl Lanzberg