Williston graphic. (Williston, Williams County, N.D.) 1895-1919, 1903-04-30


three; Toto, with her dove-colored
coat, the violin, in its rich reddish
brown, and AuDele1sky, with long Ia,
ven locks. These three alone in the
midst of the boundless, desolate ocean.
1t was the 18th OF August that the
first break came to mar the happiness
OF the trio, and it was u violin string
that broke. AS the sickening SNAP
Of the string interrupted the obligato
that Kubeletsky was executing, he
paused and tears rolled down his
! cheeks. .@ r."
Poor thing! Poor thing!" he muir.
! INJURED as he stroked the 1nutilated VIC
lin, and Toto, seeing his grief, came
and lnld her head gently on his foot.
Thanks, Toto, sweetheart" he said,
| you teach me to endure to be brave,
| to be u m;u," and he dashed aside the
| tears.
1t was soul-trying to play with one
string missing, but Kubelefsky was a
wizard, and none but he would have
known the loss, SO sweet were the
tones he drew from the remaining
strings. But the loss had taught him u
lesson, aud he used the violin less and
gave Toto more attention.
But why should prolong this tale,
or render it one anguish long drawn
out? 1t is pleasant, 1 admit, to tell
of this trinity Of dependence and love,
but my heart is panied as 1 write,
for L cannot forget the sadness of
the climax, and l must hasten on.
One by one the strings of Kubel-
-efsky's violin snapped, and each
catastrophe. seemed like swapping
of his heart string. When but one
string was left he confined his violin
exercises to few short minutes each
evening, playing the Carnival. of
Venice without variations, as ar
ranged for one string by Bounod.
1t was not much, but it was some.
thing, and without his violin kubel-
efsky would have been lost.
And then one evening the last
string broke!
The moon was nearing the west
crn horizon, and dark clouds were
crowding up from the east, bull
flood of silver light still suffused the
sea and the ship. Kubelefsky was
leaning with his back against fun
mel, and Toto was sitting in the
steamer chair.
| When the last string snapped,
Kubelefsky let his hands fall to mis-
side, and and a depth Of woe and
horror passed over his face so great
that Toto, knowing something was
amiss, sprang from her chair and
ran to him, mewing piteously.
As the first paroxysms of his grief
passed, Kubelefsky burst into tears,
and, bending down, seized Toto and
pressed her to his heart and walked
back and forth.
"You are my all now, Toto" he
cried, my last hope, my only friend!
You will not desert me, sweetheart.
You will not fail me. In you can
trust"
His cries were more like those Of
one seeking assurance than Of one
speaking fact, and Toto licked his
hand and put soft paw against his
cheek and sought in every way Il cat
can to reassure him, and this gave
him great comfort. Presently he
became quieter and seated himself,
while Toto lay in her customary
place on his lap he fondlsd his mute
violin as a mother might fondl, her
dead babe.
! Occasionally tear would we'll in
his eye, but he would dash it aside,
| crying:
''No! I will be brave! 1 have my
Toto"
Again he would sway his body to
and fro, crying:
my poor violin! My poor Strad!
So dead, SO silent! Oh, 1 am bcrcft,
am undone!"
Thus he passed the night, with
out sleep, and all the next day he
walked the deck constantly. He
would not allow Toto out Of his sight
an instant. AS the evening drew
near he became even more restless,
and when the hour arrived at which
he was wont to play his daily car
nival,' he fell under a cloud of mel
ancholy. The longing to hear the
voice of his violin rent him in a thou
sand ways. He craved it as an opium
eater Graves the drug, as a drinlker
Graves alcohol. His nerves were un-
strung, his hands tremblcd.
':And this!" he cried. 'All this be-
cause l have not one poor little
string, one piece of cat -.
He did not complete the word, for
his eye fell upon Toto sitting at his
feet gazing up at him with trustful,
confiding eyes. Did she tremblc as
he began the word, or was it his
imagination that deceived him? He
tried to put aside the thought that
had flashed across his mind. He
struggled with himself. But power
greater than himself seemed to urge
him on. His poor, mute violin seemed
to cry out to him. His fingers seemed
to plead for the touch of the strings.
All the musician, all the artist, urged
him on. But when he, glanced at
Toto-his friend, his companion, his