The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1898-08-17
STORY OF A VIOLIN.

It was mad, shameful, thing,
as realized just a moment too late.
Though did my utmost to atone
for the part I played in that tragedy,
the white agony on Chris Carew's
bcyish face that night haunts me as
vividly now as if had seen it there
yesterday, and it is years since he
last bent his head over his precious
violin.
suppose that two friends fred
with the same burning ambition
we're never more genuinely attached
to each other than he and I, perhaps
because, if I searched the world, I
might never find more lovable,
more unselfsh and thorough fellow
than Chris Carew. To become great
violinists-that was the life dream
weshared. Living together, we had
practiced together for years and
dreamed Of triumphs to come. True,
more than once I recollect having q
spasm Of envy because, as time went
on, Chris unconsciously developed
q deicacy of touch and purity of
tone that could not seem to reach
and was more often given the solo
parts when we played together in
public, but nothing more. Chris
invariably turned its edge in his
quiet, convincing 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 Z could never get half the effect.
You know it; we have proved it. -
And 30 in those dear days we al
ways placed it down to the subtle
sympathy that had grown between
him and his exquisite old violin,
nearly black with age. AS I say,
we had struggled and dreamed to-
gether 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 set longing the heart
of every man they meet. She had
Just joined as pianiste the orchestral
society to which Chris and I belong
ed, and I know that ] experienced
queer thrill the very first moment
I saw heron concert night, when
she foated across the platform
to give the overture-and again
when she stood bowling to the ap-
plause. slight, indescribably be-
witching figure in soft, white even
ing dress, with a mass of deep
brown hair and clear, calm eyes
that shone even at that distance.
And Chris, when 1 happened to
glance at him-his lips were parted,
and he stood as if lost in an ecstasy.
At the moment, though, I get it
down to his deep appreciation of her
playing.
If it had ended there! But prac-
tice nights came twice a week and
with them opportunities of turning
Lottie's music, Of begging her ac-
compartment, even of whispering
soft nothings, until understood
that she had too intense nature to
appreciate them. In a month was
madly in love with her and could
not realize q future without her.
When-when I grasped of a sudden
that the same thrill had commune
Gated itself to Chris, and that we
were secretly running race to-
gether for Lottie's heart, the mis-
chief began. Before I knew it that
insane, unreasoning jealousy of him
and his chances had sprung up in
me.
He was handsome. More, it
presently seemed to me that she
thought more of his playing than of
mine, a CALLING danger in itself.
s,cI.-, ~, ,o,.ootioo niohts 7 watched