The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1898-03-03
EnthraIled by Music.
.~o~~@01>1~~~

IItIu oIICu ny NluSIC.
~~o~~~o~1~~@
DUT the major looked refectivcly
ID at the rising spiral of smoke and
SAID he didn't know about that.
The man who had appealed to him be-
cause he was an expert for corrobora-
ton of his argument seemed surprised.
"Why, you don't mean to say there's
anything serious in his claim, do you 2"
h inquired. cts square against ma
ture."
THAT doesn't prove that it isn't posi-
ble?' the major answered. "Of course
it's wonderful thing which he gives
out as TRUTH. but a man of Prof.
Schenck's standing is entitled to claim
almost anything and then to fool US all
by proving It,"
"Well," said the other, who was COM
pany captain and not in the medical
corps, II can only look upon it as prepos-
ferrous. It's interesting, you know-rare-
lyinteresting. It'sas good story as that
of Orpheus and the rocks and trees
and things which he called to him by
his playing. Yes, and to my mind
there's just about as much fact in it,"
The major leaned back in his chair
and the lamplight of the clubroom,
falling upon his golden oak leaves and
upon his calm, hought-concealing face,
illuminated the last traces of small
smile which fitted across and was gone.
"The Orpheus business isn't impossi-
BILE, either, Kennedy" he said. ooh, I
am not poking fun, old man. I'm Sc
ricus about it. Indeed I am. I've al
ways had wholesome respect for the
yarn about those animated rocks-that
is, always since the incident of Wheel
er and of the private who killed him.
And, by the same token, right there is
a case of prenatal influence that might
fit in with our talk"
Capt. Kennedy debated no further.
He was philosopher in his way, and he
resolved that he would. rather hear a
STORY than triumph as logician. The
other officers joined him in asking the
major to go right ahead with his illus
1ration.
/ Il was stationed down in-well, let's
let names and dates co." he began.
"Anyhow, it was years ago and it was
far enough away to be beyond all pres
ent reach. A wild country, not noun
famous so much as desert and volcanic
Great cinders of rocks burned under
sun which was in business all the time,
and the uplands were rough, jagged
and untravelable, like junior Himalayas
made of coke. Still, all this has nothing
to do with the story. It only comes
back to me now because I remember
what time of it we had finding any,
thing fit to be made into respectable
cemetery when we buried Lieut.. Wheel
er, who, as said, had been killed by one
of his own men, fellow named Soulji-
italian, maybe; Austrian, Spaniard;
something out of the common run of
city enlisted men. -.. .
1t was Soulji who acted under tie pre-
natal influence. The first time noticed
this was on day when one of his COM
panions had been kicked by horse
and nearly killed. The victim was car
ried to the post hospitals meager sort
of institution, as you can imagine
and Soulji was detailed to go to my
quarters and notify me. He came bur
rying over to my house and was about
to turn up the steps when my nine
year-old boy, who was sitting on the
stoop with mouth organ for COM
pany, started some kind of tune. He
couldn't play with any skill or art, but
as soon as Soulji heard the first note he
took off his cap and stood like statue,
listening. The boy kept on playing,
AM at last the attention of somebody
in the house was called to the soldier.
He was a statue, I tell you-just per-
feet statue; immovable, rapt, attentive.
An hour or so afterward went to the
window and saw he was still there
listening, listening, listening, while the
boy quavered and exploded up and down
the instrument.
las I viewed him this last time SER
geant came hurrying up to the house,
and, seeing Soulji, spoke, as it seemed
to me from his actions, rebukingly.
Soulji struck him and was arrested.
His guardhouse term was, I imagine,
for the combination offense of striking
the sergeant and of failing to deliver
the sick call to me. Others in the post
wondered at the mans conduct, but as
I thought it over it seemed to me that
perhaps there was something more than
mere inattention and characterization
in his having given himself so entirely
to the boys mouth organ music, and I
questioned him.
HE wouldn't talk about it at first,
but after awhile he told me. AS had
half, suspected, music was passion
yes, more than that-a life principle
with him. Music of any kind over
powered him enslaved him. He
couldn't resist it. Every sense but that
of hearing left him when cornet
sounded. The bugle calls thrilled and
and mastered him. And the oldest part
of it all was that he couldn't play any
kind of an instrument. Not one.
Couldn't even whistle tune. The
whole thing was purely objective to
him. Then, as well as he could, he ex-
planned it to me, but I deduced most of
the story. His mother had been married
to musician who was destined to be-