The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1897-11-30
CHAPTER /.

y Il4Al I'm l.
"a soldiers som" groancd Captain
Somerset. waving one strong, sunhurnt
hand toward the little figure pclchcd
up before the Erard Grand" "a sol
dier's son! Good Lord. and you viii
turn him into a lCng-haired, greasy
musician. For heavens sake. DIVA,
give the boy a chance; leave his over
worked little brain alone, poor little
wretch Musician.-bah! May ! ask if
his andfather's--grcat, ard
great. great grandfather's profession Is
not good enough for him"
Mr.. Somerset WINGED. Long hair
ed. dirty. greasy muscian!" The cut
had gone home; that was one Of her
brothcr-iu-law's underhand blows At
the dear professor Was a woman TO
Low" only once? Harry Somersct--poor,
dear Henrv!-had been her gillhood's
hero, the husband of her youth; but
now that she was older and wiser, she
realized that Henry had not possessed
soul" he had only been an honest
British officer and a gentleman, of the
earth, earthly. He had never UNDER
stood her--never dreamed of the high
er nature lying dormant i'm her breast,
only awaiting the touch of a master
hand to thrill into life. Henry had no
true idea of melody. or time, or tune;
he could play one air-rathcr inaDpro-
priately-Unon flute; and he used
10 persist in whistlng erratically as
an accompaniment to her violin, break
off with a qualn of rlisgiving To in
quire why she was playing wrong
notes, and then-with a dismal shake
OF his big, fair head confess that no
had not happened to catch the hang
of the thing. Henry Somerset had
found no use for classical music. saw
no sense in it, aud when it was told
him that little Hal would some day he
great musician, that little Hal took
after his mother ana was surprisingly
talented for so young child, he Only
laughed unbelievingly. and caught the
boy up in his strong, loving arms
Don't tell me that he crucklrd.
There never was a son Of our house
who was musical Music is for wo-
men-fighting for men, You are your
fa,hers son, too-eh, little kid? How
DOGS the old rhyme so. sonnie?
Tom, Tom, the piper's son.
tie learnt to play when he was young:
But the only tune that he could play
Was "Over the hills and far away"
Mark nv word. olivia. the boy
hasn't the making of Il musician in
him. Some day he may. perhaps. pick
out tune or so on the piano with one
finger, or squeal the Dead March in
Saul on the flute. as / do. Nothing
more. Rapping fine tune. that, / he
heve if | was dead and heard the drums
and fifes strike it up, | should hear it,
and chip in and whistle"
-Four years had passed by since the
drums and flies that played Henry
Somerset to his grave failed to awaken
him with the only tune he had ever
cared for; and now his delicate little
son and heir was being worked to death
hy the untiring energy Of the enthu-
siastic musician, who now occupied
more of Olivia Somerset's heart than
her husband had ever dreamed she
possessed
Vat is it Zat ! tell you" the herr
professor would habblc eXcitcdly, with
vague gestCulatiOn Of his short
squat hands. and a leonne shake or
his toWsled name Of hair. "Nein Got!
but de heoples shall harken to him as
ze infant brodigy-iS it not so? Play
now-ach' Himmcl, Ze little gifted
one! Ner--Vcr goot'"
But the SomersotS--as family
were not musical: and Claude Sumrr-
set saw no reason why poor old Henry's
boy should be made what he was con-
temptuously pleased to term a plano
siapper.' Hal was now the head of the
house. and must he a soldier some fine
day-all the SOmorsets were soldiers.
and Claude would see himself dashed
if Hal did not follow in his forefathers
Warlke footsteps.
He crossed the wide, polished floor Of
h 4. 4 1..sl
the child's shoulder.
Hal" he said, his bluff voice SOFTEN
ing, ARE you tired. old man?"
y pair of honest Saxon eyes were
raised to his face. Tho busy little,
aching fingers rested from their toll.
and the boy pushed back his fair curls
with an impatient hand
This hair bothcrs me-" he said re-
sontfully. lit falls into my eyes and
tCkles my neck. 1t is like cirl to
have curls on ones shoulders and to
wear a lace collar. | must not be tired
yet, Uncle Claude; | have to practice
for three more hours, and then. per-
haps." with a wistful look over his
shoulder at his mother. II may play
for little while. May l. mother
Mrs Somerset came toward him with
a gracious smile.
Yes, darling" she replied. sWcotly.
"'All work and no play makes Jack
duh boy You shall amuse yourself
for a whole hour when you have cutie
finished practiCing. Tel Uncle Claude
all about the concert you are to ap-
pear at; tell him how they will clap
you, and how the ladies will throw
flowers, and how"
Are you fond Of all this tommy
rot, Hal?" broke in Capt Somerset
hluntly. 81 mean this everlasting
piano. -janElnE?"
"It hurts my fingers confessed
Hal.
"Do you like the sound Of it," pre-
sisted his questioncr tuning upon
his sister-n-law with "A curt Don't
prompt him to answer me 50. lie is
truthful enough to be allowed to re-
ply for himself"
'The professor" commenced Mrs.
Somerset, eagerly.