The Savannah morning news., 1901-09-06
Our Daily Short Stories
CORONATION OF MAMIE SNOW
BY WILLIAM BLOSS.
Copyright, 1901, by Authors syndicate)

one may fairly entertain doubts as
N the truth of the accepted theory
that music is uplifting to the soul,
and that the lover of harmony and the
nelodic expression of sentiments nat
urally expressible is in the middle of
+he road which leads to higher life.
Nany stubborn facts leading to quite
contrary conclusions might be found
nv diligent seekers after basic truth.
Nevertheless, it is unpopular not to
hold with accepted theories. In the
case of the influence of music, no less
q one than the Avonian bard stands
snonsor that it is exalting, and it may
NOT become mere modern modern huck-
sters to dispute the merchant prince of
ideality.
And vet, if one looks critically into
the case of Mamie Snow, if one an
alvzes the conduct of Herbert Mesmer,
if one dispassionately dissects the
handspring motive influencing Miss
BERTHA Clark-when all is done, one is
still in doubt as to the truth of the
accented theory. And to this founda~
mental statement we cling persever-
inglx. Let those of other minds inter-
pret as they will, when they possess
the facts.
was not nearly the orderly sort of rail-
way meeting point everyone now
knows it to be; when the Hannibal
Railroad was still laying stringers for
its big bridge and huge ferry boats
Piled busily to carry men and beasts
and munitions back and forth across
the placid Missouri, spread into huge
lake the shallow below the big bend
where the Kaw comes in; when labor
ers in thousands, gamblers in hum
dreds and more or less assorted camp
followers in droves lived in tents and
barracks on the north bank; when con-
tractors paid off" twice a month in
hard cash and wages were so high that
most men wouldn't go into physical
mire to pick up a doflar-many dip
ped deew in moral mire for less-in
those days the huge board dance hall.
bar-room, gambling house and free and
easy known as the Gem of the West
was in it's zenith hour. and its pot
boiled both night and day with per-
nicious activities. 1t was here that
Herbert Mesmer played first fiddle. AS
for Mamie Snow, she also earned her
living under the generous roof of the
Gem of the West. For one thing, when
liberal teamsters earning their sew
en- dollars a day, came to share in the
gilded pleasures of this temple to
Terpsichore and Bacchus, and ordered
champagne at five dollars the small
bottle. Mamie served them most ex-
cellent. sparkling cider in it's stead.
and aVerted harsh criticism by the
chiIdlike innocence of her rare smile.
Nose Mandelbaum. sole proprietor of
the Gem, valued Mamie most highly.
Once he offered her the honor of his
hand, thinking thereby she would cost
him less money, but this distinction
the girl had declined without pausing
for second thought She was already
in love you see, with the fiddler. More
over though she may have been indis-
Greet Mamie was not mercenary.
There are no two questions about
Herbert Mesmer's art. No art is not
the word It was power. His gift
was heaven born. If ever, since first
the Olympian gods crowned sons of
earth with gifts and Inspiration has
been given to mortal, this obscure heir
of Pan had been touched by the beam
of some transcendent power. Him,
why, that ther' feller kin jest mex
his ole fiddle talk. jest talk. Thet's
all he kin do with a fiddle" his ad-
mirers agreed.
1t was true enough. Under the touch
of his master sympathy the rude vio-
lin he had acquired in Leavenworth
for twelve dollars. was walked to con-
cordant murmurings whose melodic
sighs breathed tales in as many
tongues as there were interpreters to
listen and translate. Thus it was that
when Herbert's bow alone was bent the
laughter the clatter, the scurrying rev.
elry, all the high pitched clamor OF
the great dance hall. fell soon into in
stinctive hush and held silence until
the weaver of the spell himself was
still. Once, long before the story had
grown to be tradition. a burly track
master. deep in cup, had ventured to
roar out a stave or two of some ribald
ballad of the hour, while Mesmer was
playing his violin. The latter stopped
sharply. and the rough voice of the
interrupter still was raised alone when
the mighty fist of Big Pete, the bridge
foreman. fell upon him in awful rec
koning for his unseemliness.
After that, when Herbert wooed his
violin, one might have thought the au-
dience sat in a church
This fellow, whose husk was as fair