The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1901-09-28
ONE OF THE OTHERS.
rFrom Black and White.l

\ Providence, together with a newspa-
per advertisement. had brought about
his engagement as cornet player in one
| Of the big summer hotels. The hotel
orchestra of two besides himself-a vio-
| linist of Polish extraction, who in win
ter was employed at one of the lesser
city theaters, and a pianist. The plan
ist wore vivid neckties and parted his
hair down the middle He had a soul
/ of brass and a wrist of iron 1t was
/ the duty of the trio to play during meal
| times and also from 8 to 10:30 each ev-
ening in the great dining room, cleared
/ by the colored walters for dancing IN
| der the electric lights the floor was then
/ like a shifting flower bed, gay with
whrled muslin skirts and bright rib
bons. Night after night. from the ros-
trum IN the corner Of the room. the
cornet player watched the same famil
lar crowd; night after night he had -
play the same music for their pleasure
| making. 1T was his first engagement OF
the sort and for q time the thing was
new to him. He liked to follow the
comings and goings. the Screenings and
amusements of this world to which he
must always be outsider
But after a while its samenesS began
to pail upon him. Always the one type
in the flushed faces and dainty gowns
swung past him; always the one kind of
chatter came brokenly to his ears be-
the universe peopled by a medley Of
puppets who danced mechanically him
self the machine that ground out their
music. Two step, Valse and schottlsche;
valse and two step He said once TO
the pianist with a half savage hum0r.
We might be nickel in the Slot ma
chines-only they never put the nickels
inl'
out Of his WEAKNESS grew presently a
dull dislike, an antagonism against the
4
to play that others might dance The
proprietor of the hotel had named il
Beacon blythe Sea- presumably be-
cause it stood a quarter Of a mile in
land But the name worked its magic
in advertisements. and the place was
crowded. The cornet player used to
watch the young people about him, and
hated them bitterly fer their pleasures
and gayeties in which ne could have no
part. He was himself younger than
many of them; he had all the yearning
of youth toward youth, the keen hunger
for enjoyment which is harder than any
wants of later life. It is only the mid
die aged who can afford to wait and
plan and dream. Each day takes as
further alOng the road, and the cry o.
the young is to have their pleasure
while yet they are young, not when they
Will have no longer need of it, The cor
net player would have given the half of
his later years for one hour of the tran
STORY pleasure which these others Of
his own age took as their commonplace
due. 1t would have meant SO much to
him. He broOded over it while he
watched the maze of their shifting feet
OFTEN the younger set monopolized
one side of the floor uproariOusly for a
square dance lie had to listen to good
humored chaff and snatches of laugh
ter: Jokes that he knew by heart. There
was one Harvard student among them
named Holden, who kept his compan-
ions in continual ripples Of mirth. The
cornet player grew to hate deeply the
very sound of this students voice.
Sometimes he pictured to himself
with bitter sarcasm one OF this care
lessly good natured set ever coming on
to him between the dances to say,
Here you have a turn once while /
take your placei" But their kindness
was only toward each other. 1t would
stop at him like high brick wall He
had had proof of this once soon after
he first came there. when ne had joined
unconsciously in the laugh which fol-
lowed sally made by one of a little
knot gathered by the edge of the rOs-
trum The look of blank and frigid as
constituent whirled upon him instantly
by the goddess of the party-a slim
school girl in muslin frock-was !
among those things which we would
always remember. They plainly regard |
ed him. if they regarded him at all, as |
merely part Of the hotel furniture He |
was there to play their music, week in, /
week out and to continue playing Just I
the same tired or willing i'll or Well. /
until it pleased them TO stop. Beyond |
this he could have no more part in their
lives than the chairs they sat on or /
the floor upon which they danced.
He wondered sometimes if this view /
of their position ever appealed in the !
same way to his companions. They I
seemed to him to take the daily routine I
in a manner purely bUsinesslike, even I
cheerful. Round the corner of the in |
strument he could watch. from where he /
sat the automatic rise and fall of the /
Octaves in the bass and wonderful /
treble runs that shook the piano like 1
a storm The pianist seemed to take no /
notice of the crowd beyond occasional /
comment on their individual appear |
ance or characteristics His whole in /
terest in them he, in fact, summed up /
to the cornet player during an interval /
in the programme. They never seem I
ready to let up, do they2" The cornet 1
player almost envied him his supreme /
Indifference He questioned with him
self whether the pianist had never at /
any time wished to change places with |
them; to dance for once in his life. |
while others did the playing He i'm
agined him a man from whom long
hardening had removed all human feel
ing
on Saturday. evenings the hop was
open to outsiders. The dancing was
then from to II. The atmosphere in
the big room. under the glare of the
lights, was all but tropical. The Orches-
ira played with handkerchiefs tucked
strategicauy into their collars. Win
dows We're open to the west veranda
outside. where the older people sat out
and listened to the music Between
numbers the dancers crowded out to
stroll up and down between the closely
placed chairs. the girls with light
wraps flung round their Threats in the
cooler air. Inside the emptied room the
musicians leaned back and famed
themselves with sheet music glancing
YEARLY at the clock Through the open
windows came mosquitoes and the hum
Of voices, and. very rarely, a breeze
Between hours their time was to a de-
gree their own They employed these in
tervals of leisure after their own fashion.
III