The suburban citizen., 1902-09-06
The impresario choked and moder.

ated his tone a little.
you have the whip hand Of me now.
Godfrith, but wait--but wait till l have
you under my hand again Corpo di-
camel l will make you pay for thlsw
OF course you will maestro God
firth said, coolly, "and you may, but
to-day 1 will be master of my own
hands. So win come, Mr.. Hoffman,,
II you will wait two seconds"
He left the room and returned In
stantly with a plaid thrown over his
narrow, STOPPING shoulders and his VIC.
lin case under his arm.
Come" he went on, with an implsh
laugh and a glance at the impresario,
scowling in his easy chair; "the macs.
tro will recover when we are gone.
DO you live here, Mr.. Hoffmannp as
they emerged into the sunlit street
quite close" Ernest Hoffman, said,
curtly. as they left the high road and
turned down narrow Savage street.
Godfrith Ak gave a glance at the
Greary, demure houses right and left,
and laughed quietly to himself
Eden in tatters for somebody, sup
pose. Do you live here, Mr.. Holf.
uann" as Ernest pushed open the
door of No. $50. "Have you any other
childrenf"
"No." Ernest Hoffman, said, as he
preceded the little fiddler up the creak.
ing stairs; "orly this one-and his
mother is a cripple This way. Clara,
be is here" Dark blue eyes met the
dark gray, in long, inQuirng glance;
then thin hand, soft and white and
cold, went out to clasp the little fd-
dlcr's thin, hot fingers and soft voice
said:
oh it is good of you to come--so
good! Ernest told you how Ill our boy
was and how he longed to hear you
play? And your playing is a marvel.
How do you? Why She with.
drew her hand with a little cry.
You are not child at all, and
thought"
"NO, am not n child" the little fld
dler said, looking at her puzzled face
with clear, candid eyes. 81 am seven
teen. Yes with a shrug) l am child
in size, know-.I stopped growing
when was nine"
Are you a gypsy? Forgive me-"
Clara said, with a pretty blush, but it
has been said so-and wondered II it
was true"
Il am of gypsy blood on one SIDE
madame" Godfrith Ak answered-"the
mothers"
Il am afraid" Clara said, as he
opened the violin case and took the in.
strument out, handling it lovingly,
you ought not to have come out in
this east wind. You have been Ill,
surely?"
NO" Godfrith said, quietly. "I am
never strong, madame. But am never
Ill, either Shall begin to play now,
madame? Where is your boyT"
in the next room through that
open door, if you will be so kind. Err
nest" as her husband made as If he
would follow the little fiddler to his
boys bedside, "let them be alone to-
gether, dear. Our guest will like it bet
ter, / know. Madge would say I am
absurdly fanciful, dear" as he came
to her side with a surprised face But
l feel as il you had brought here a
good fairy who will cure our Uric,
and-what is that he is playing?"
"A cradle song, madame" Godfrith
answered for himself, through the open
doorway. 1T is a Norwegian lullaby"
The lIllaby crooned softly away into
silence and then Clara from her couch
saw the little fiddler bend swiftly over
the bed and kiss her boys flushed, de-
lighted face with a murmured $50, this
is better than the Albert Hall"
Then he took up his bow again and
drew it over the strings in a swift,
dainty dance measure. all light, airy
passages, through which Clara could
almost hear the movement of dancing
feet. She listened for a few minutes
with half smile on her lips; then her
eyes. puzzled and half afraid went
wstfully to meet the little fiddler's,
and came back TO her husbands face
with an unsatisfed fear in their blue
depths. Ernest, do know that song?
1t seems so-and wish almost-I wish
he would not play it"
Madame, l am half way through It.
| must go on to the bitter end now"
the little fiddler called to her, with
tremble Of laughter in his voice. Il
shall soon have done"
II don't like it," Clara murmured,
distressfully. 81 seem to know it,
and"
She lay listening in silence for some
minutes, then the fear in her eyes kin
died into fame, and she caught at
her husbands hand with the look Of
a terrified child.
Ernest | remember; It Is the Dance
Of Death that the Bohemian gypsies
play. Stop him"
"My dear Clara" Her terror
made even unimaglnative Ernest
Hoffman, turn pale, and he turned yet
paler when the music stopped in the
middle Of an airy dance movement.
"On the Goth inst, suddenly
I