The San Francisco call., 1898-02-19
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 GORGIONI'S POLONAISE.
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1 of the Shouter he was swearing aud ibly. The virulence and variety of his paths seemed hardly to relieve his ex- asperation, however, for running against the Police Court reporter at the | foot of the stairs, Germaine launched forth anew into turbulent sea of pro- fanity in which the city editors name tossed and tumbled by the angry waves of his eloquence, ducked and staggered and sailed on, only to be overtaken and buffeted again and again.
 | "Oh, that'li all be, taken for granted" said the Police Court reporter, easily. Skip the introduction, and tell your story. Whats. it all about?" Well. he has sent me out to do a classical concert
 ''No!" exclaimed the reporter, his fat pimpled face glowing with malevolent joy.
 "Oh, yes, he has," sneered Germaine Matinee musicale-Signor RiZzoforte. You know, clawhammers women = | fiowers-grand piano-lot of hypocrites, who don't know what they're applaud ing-pretend to like it-don't--not a. all right, I won't. But, Rizzoforte, inn agine it! Lots of hair, oily, banging beast-ugh!'
 Tt is tough" said Dobson, sympa- thetically
 Trough. Tough" shrieked Ger maine. "Dobson, I tell you I know as much about music as-as the office cat or the new press, or-or as a society dude who sucks his cane and ogles the women at the matinee musicale. Mat inee mllSfc9lein he SDarled He was late. Boggs had forgot all about the Rizzoforte concert till it was half over; and Germaine's encounter with Dobson had delayed him further. He lounged into the foyer just in time for the last number, thankful for this, but irritated anew by the airs of the ushers. His late entrance was a sac- rilege in the estimation of these claw hammered votaries of the musical deity, whose name the little mannikins breathed in sort of sacred ecstasy.
 Germaine waited at the door, gnaw- ing his lip and smothering his dissat- isfaction, while his eye wandered from the hushed, darkened, crowded hall to the stage above.
 There came a short pause, during which the audience remained breath less, reverential, and then burst into frantic applause. Then the music be- gan again.
 Leaning back, with his head and shoulders against the heavy curtains, Germaine discovered to his amaZement that all his fury, his intense disgust, his irritation, had left him. His nerves seemed to suck in the soft, 1ulling sweetness of the melody that came now from the piano, and his whole body was bathed in reposeful ease. He closed his eyes and gave himself up to the feeling of mental helplessness. He let himself be soothed and salved and comforted. He felt every i'll slipping from him, and his weary soul swam in a sensuous, slowmoving sea, while his brain, drugged with sweetness, slept.
 When Germaine got back to the office, 1t occurred to him that he had forgot ten to note the players personality. This was decided loss of material. He had hoped to dilate upon this topic in default of real criticism. But he, set doggedlya to work holding on desper- ately to his programme-so much Greek to him.
 He dismissed each of the earlier numbers, which, of course, he had not heard, with stereotyped mention. and then, with a grateful sense of being permitted finally to use his brain, he launched into a panegyric of the closing number All that delicious feeling of lotus eating ease, that dolce far niente of mind and body, came back to him as he wrote; and, scorning longer to steer by his memories of musical criticism, as exhibited in the daily press, boldly he struck into an enthusiastically eulo- gistic strain. As to the name of the thing, he consulted the programme. Of course, he had never before heard of Gorgionis "Polonaise," and he had d vague idea that that should not have been the name of that sweet, wondrous melody that had bewitched him. But he finished with a resounding, fervid sentence, turned In his copy, and then went home to bed.
 Germaine noted with pang the next day that none of the morning papers, except the Shouter. mentioned Gorgi- onis "Polonaise." He re-read his own account. It was not a criticism of the concert; it was merely a hyperbolical pdneSyTlC OH CIOISlOIll IOlOHdlSc dS played by Rizzoforte. It was just his luck. He had made the Shouter ridicu- lous.
 He was too sore. too blue, to stand chaff1ng or featuring. He was prepared to fight Dobson or any and everyone else who should mention things musical to him, and he longed for an cpportu- nity to beat the city editor to pulp, and then resign.
 But Germaine, like many another sore egotist, found that the world had moved since yesterday. There was big murder story on, and the whole of- flee was in a thrill of excited anticipa- tion of scoop. He was caught up in the whirl of news-gathering, and be- came so interested in the great story that he forgot all about Gorgioni's ,"Polonaise'' and his own fiasco.
 The following day was repetition of it's predecessor. The men on the Shouter breathed not nor ate nor slept; they only worked. Germaine came rushing into the city editors room with an important bit of news bearing upon