The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1895-01-05

thinking. He was in his own pleas
ant little room, and held in his hand
the twenty dollars left after paying
his board. Somehow that twenty
dollars looked very small. He had
not supposed that twenty dollars
could seem SO very little. II can't
send Effie anything" he thought i'm
patiently. otis out of the question.
It's just as father said. Forty dollars
is very little after all. Why, / can
hardly dress decently on it,"
He sat frowning at the money for
a few minutes; then, with discon-
tented sigh, thrust it into his pocket
and took up book.
1t was "Sartor Resartus," which
pretty Miss Alice Thorn had lent him
the week before, with iniunctions to
tell her just what he thought of it
when he had finished.
Bert being anything but literary,
found this a not very easy task, but
began composing his report at the
end of the first chapter. He was
cudgeling his brains for an appropri-
ate phrase, when he heard the soft
tones of a piano in the next room
Presently the musician real music
ian = began Schubert's Serenade.
Bert sat up straight, now. Fife used
to play that. He had always been
very fond of it, and had thought she
played it well; but this was quite diff
ferent. The music swelled into a
long, sweet cry. How exquisitely,
painfully beautiful it was! He saw
now that Effie had only played the
notes. Here was all the music. He
had never understood before, though
Effie had. He remembered suddenly
how she had left the piano one day
in burst of tears. Il can't make
any music" she had sobbed; cts all
wooden. / don't know how to use my
fingers. could play, I know could,
if could only have -" and then
seeing her mothers sorrowful face,
she had run out of the room. He
leaned forward to catch every note,
and sat motionless for few moments
after it had ended. But there was
only the low hum of voices now. He
rose, with sigh.
"Poor Effie," he thought. 81 do be-
lieve she has it in her to play like
that. 1 wish l could help her." He
walked restlessly up and down the
room for few minutes, and then sat
down and pulled out his account
book. He would look it over and see
if there was any possible way in which
he could economic enough to send
her at least the eight dollars neces-
sary for her lessons. She could find
some way to get the other two to pay
for her fare back and forth from the
city. He sat there an hour wrinkling
his forehead until it seemed as if it
would never get smooth again, calcu-
lating and making out his accounts
first one way and then in another
But do what he would he could bring
his expenses no lower than thirty five
dollars.
He looked at his list of necessaries
with troubled face. eff | was only
a Feejee Islander, and didn't have to
wear collars and cuffs and neck ties"
he thought, II could do it. Three
dollars and half just for their wash
ing and new ones, this month. That
would just help out. Carver wears
those neglige flannel things in the
store, and they are all very we'll, but
l go out so much"-he smiled com
placentl y-"that it wouldn't be any
saving" 1t occurred to him that
he might save by not going, but GER
tainly that was a foolish, quixotic
idea. Give up this delightful new
social life? Why, it helped him in
his business future No, it was not
to be thought of. But it would be
thought of. 1t pursued him into the
Office the next day. Several times he
reused himself from a reverie. He
was imagining that Mr.. Crandall had
called him into his private Office, and
was telling him how much more his
services were worth than he had ex-
pected, and that in the future his
salary would be fifty dollars. He
could see Effie's delight at the money
he should send her. Yes, he would
make it fifteen dollars, now. He
would only keep for himself what was
absolutely necessary. But he was
suddenly brought back to stern real
ity by sharp call from Mr.. Crandall.
"Your wits must be wool gathering,
Truman. This is the third time
have spoken to you"