The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1897-09-22

| TIE uuo WOuiu not Dc Hnlsneu IN Tune
But at last came letter. 1t had nearl,
driven her mad, she said, but we coul,
judge of her success if we called at he
house to try our parts on the followin,
Wednesday evening.
The note was addressed to Chris. Fo
moment my jealousy famed up 5,
that | had almost snatched il out o
his hands as he read it. / mastered
that impulse, but / knew that the crisi
was at hand now. My brain was in ;
whirl all that week. Scarcely WORD
passed between Us. And Chris, rs he
walked beside me that "Wednesday
evening, seemed TO have grown hag
gard, and he shifted his violin cast
from hand to hand constantly. think
he had begun to understand.
Reaching the house, we We're shown
at once into the sitting room, and ther,
sat Lottie at piano, surrounded by 1
litter of papers. Perhaps she, too, real
lied something at that moment, for she
rose with a start and heightened
color.
SIS it really O'clock? seem TO be
left behind the world lately. This
staccato finale has kept me in a ner.
vous tremble for days. Oh, and-and''
She hesitated, plucking at the velvet
band at her throat, quite childishly
for her. 'I-Im dreadfully sorry, but
1T isn't to be duet at all. found L
hadn't possibly time to arrange the
second part as well as the accompani-
ment, so II abandoned it, and | real
ly think it goes better as a solo," a
strained, never forgotten pause. Then,
becoming herself again, she ran for
ward and touched my arm appealing
ly. "You don't mind very much, do
you?" she asked in her sweet voice.
All over in a breath! know stood
stupidity still for time, unable to get
a syllable past the swelling in my
throat, while the floor seemed to be
rocking. So she had written the solo
for Chris-and with it ended all my
dreams. 1 wanted air. | murmured
conething, caught up my violin and
went mechanically out and down the
stairs. At the door | stopped. Some
one had cille1 me. 1t was Chris, his
face white and imploring as frighten-
Ell wOman's.
"Will" That was all he said huski-
ly as he gripped my arm. l knew va
guely that it meant ''Sooner than that,
you can have the solo," But that only
maddened me the more. 1 shook off
his hand and walked away home.
Three hours later he walked in. /
think he had been wandering the
streets, fighting a battle with himself.
He came straight across to where | sat,
with palpable attempt to speak and
act rs if nothing had happened
"Why didn't you stay, old man?
It's grand-she's genius-it will
haunt you when you hear it. On, and
Pve persuaded her to take rest and
then write the second fiddle part.
Thlt'll be all right, won't it? WILL"
h whispered, why didn't you tell
IN p"
"Keep her." l said icily, "and the
SOLO TOO. There"
he drew a deep breath. Another
soft word from hi IN and | should have
given way, but he had turned away
and picked up u letter that had arrived
for him by the last post. Absolute
silence for a time. Then glanced up
to see Chris staring at me, his face a
stu BY, in incredulous wonder.
Heavens. WiIlr' he breathed.
"My names made! Here's an invita-
ton from the manager of the Grand
hall to play there tomorrow
night and name my own fee. One of
their artists is indisposed. VIII, did
you hear? At the Grand hall, l,en-
sington, tomorrow night. Me-me.
What can he have heard of me? Why,
it's the chance of my lifetime. Will,
aren't you going to grip my haIid:'
He was SO overcome that hc hardly
noticed sat like stone. He went on
whispering rapturously to himself:
Tomorrow night! 1 must write
and tell her this. Why, the solo-I
can play it. She must be there! VIII,
listen-you must hear it. 1t goes like
thi-u'
He caught up his violin. i see him
now as he stood that night, hear that
downward sweep of his bow across the
strings, full of conscious triumph
that one quivering chord, no more. L
was on my feet, a terrible passion pass
ing through me. Every word of his
had been stab. Each seemed to carry
LOttie farther and farther from me.
struck out at him-at Chris, the man
who had made me love him like a
brother-and the savage blow caught
the rim of his beloved instrument and
sent it spinning across the room. Near
the door it fell with a sickening crash
and lay there--wrecked!
Yes. Next minute, when | realized
and would have given years of my life
to spare Chris that blow, 1 crept across
and picked up the violin. The finger
board had snapped in two, and the
body of it was stove in like an eggshell.
"Oh, Chrisr' l whimpered, one
shaking hand put out. But he did not
stir. His body was stiff. Only his
face worked convulsively. Take mine
take everything Pve gotp' 1 said in
an agony of apprehension then.
One dry sob came, then a shiver,
then he groped his way past me like a
blind man. Listening so for my life,
heard him mount slowly up to our
bedroom and lock the door on the in
side. Then one stifled moan and no
more.
All that night L sat in fever of
shame and suspense, and the door
above had not opened. Several times
had crept up and implored him to let
me in, but not sound had come.
What was he doing? Save myself, no
one on earth knew how he had priced
that old violin-what its loss meant for
him. What would happen? When
morninp came. / could do nothing but