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

1t was a mad, a shameful, thing, a:
l realized just moment too late
Though did my utmost to atone 70
the part played in that tragedy, the
white agony on Chris Carew's boyisl
face that night haunts me as vividly
now as if had seen it there yesterday
and it is years since he last bent hi:
head over his precious violin.
/ suppose that two friends fired Will
the same burning ambition were never
more genuinely attached to each Other
than he and /, perhaps because, if
searched the world, | might never find
more lovable, more unselfish and
thorough fellow than Chris Carew.
To become great violinists-that was
the life dream we shared. Living
together, we had practiced together fol-
years and dreamed of triumphs to come.
True, more than once / recollect hav.
ing a spasm of envy because, as time
went on, Chris unconsciousiy develop.
ed delicacy of touch and pIri.y OF
tone that | could not seem to reach
and was more often given the solo
parts when we played together in pub
lie, but nothing more. Chris invaria-
bly, turned its edge in his quiet, con-
vincing way:
''Will, it's nonsense. My instru-
ment happens to be an older and better
one than yours; that's all. Put any
other fiddle into my hands, and |
could never get half the effect You
know it; we have proved it,"
And 50 in those dear days We always
placed it down to the subtle sympathy
that had grown between him and his
exquisite old violin, nearly black with
age. As say, we had struggled and
dreamed together for years, and then
then that shadow of a woman came be-
tween us. Then
They say that every woman has some
kind of beauty in some mans eyes, but
Lottie Arnold-well, she seemed TO be
one of the women who unconsciously
e { longing the heart of every man they
met. She had just Joined as pianiste
the orchestral society TO which Chris
and belonged, and | know that | ex-
perienced queer thrill the very first
moment / saw heron concert night,
when she fioated across the platform to
give the Overture-and again when she
stood bowling TO the applause, a slight,
indescribably bewitching figure in soft,
white evening dress, with a mass of
deep brown hair and clear, calm eyes
that shone even at that distance. And
Chris, when happened to glance at
him-his lips were parted, and he stood
as iflost in an ecstacy. AT the moment,
though, set it down to his deep appre-
citation of her playing.
Ifit had ended there But practice
nights came twice a week and with
them opportunities of turning Lottie's
music, Of begging her accompaniment,
even of whispering soft nothings, until
| understood that she had too intense
a nature to appreciate them. In a
month / was madly in love with her
and could not realize future without
her. When-I grasped of a sudden
that the same thrill had communicate
ed itself to Chris, and that we were Sc
cretly running a race together for Lot
ties heart, the mischief began. Before
[ knew it that insane, unreasoning
jealousy Of him and his chances had
sprung up in me.
He was handsome. More, it present.
ly seemed To me that she thought more
of his playing than of mine, Calling
danger in itself. Often on practice
nights | watched as he stood bowling
away dreamily beside her until | grew
20 sick with jealousy that / left the
place and went home alone, and yet he
never seemed to understand. Truth TO
tell, as the weeks went by no one
could have said that either of Us had
come within winning distance of her.
Sometimes il was | who would go
home in a state of mental intoxication,
while Chris would seem paler and
auieter than usual; then, next time,
Chris would come in with the telltale
flush TO find me sitting moody and
savage. Neger once did we speak di-
rectly of it, but the shadow was there,
every day, and somehow
from the first it seemed TO me that
Chris, taken on his merits alone, would
b,. the winner in this silent, desperate
struggle.
Desperate? Yes. One night in a fit
of pique | had absented myself from
the practice and for hours sat planning
how could make him set a match 10
the powder About ii o'clock he bust
in, his face all aglow.
"WilI, I've just heard the sweetest
bit of music ever written-her own
composition-Lottie's | mean! | can
hear it now! / caught her playing un-
awares, and what do you think? I've
made her promise TO embody it in a
violin duet to be played by you and me
at the next concert. She can do IL.
She has written more than one pretty
song. Will. Will What is the mat
ter? What have / done?"
had tried to sneer, but it was no
use. When he put his hand on my
shoulder and softly asked tLat, / could
only get up and walk from the room.
The lump in my throat was too great
for words. knew | loved him, but l
did not know that | hated him too.
Then for month of suspense we
saw nothing of Lottie Arnold. She
was a. much of an enthusiast a Chris