The Western news., 1903-07-22
VIOLIN
SOLO
by r. H. LANCASTER.
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Copyright 1891. by Authors Syndicate.J

tCopyright 1901, BY Authors Syndicate.J
After Elanor had pushed her hair
back with both hands and said she
would never, never so much as think
about it, the question of Aunt Euba' s
will appear to be settled so far as
the Valcombs were concerned.
What Henry Walton said and did,
no one knew. He was lonely man,
living somewhere in lodgings, and
had no confdant.
The Valcombs sighed in secret.
Half a hundred thousand dollars
seemed such a desirable adjunct; but
of course Elanor was right. No one
wished her to make an l,ncongenial
marriage for the barefaced purpose
of replenishing the family purse
Still it might not have been uncon-
genial. If only she would consent to
investigate. But at the suggestion
she whirled upon them.
"Mammon," and then, in direst
scorn: "You people must think me
bereft of self-respect."
Later on she set aside heroics and
told them that she would work for
them cheerfully, but that she would
not sell herself for pelf. No; not if
ten thousand Aunt Eubas made as
many thousand conditional wills and
left the wealth of the Indies in fee
simple. And this, indeed, did set
tie it.
Elanor returned to town and her
small rooms up six flights, and went
to work on her cartoons with re-
doubled energy. The rest of the fam
lily remained in the country trying to
realize that Aunt Euba had died at
last and left her namesake-penni-
less. Their castles had tumbled
about their ears. And Henry Wal
ton? Nobody knew anything about
him, not even where he lived.
Elanor worked hard, telling her
self between whiles that she was not
disappointed; that she had never ex-
pected to inherit anything from her
cranky relative. "It is nobler to earn
ones bread by the sweat Of ones
brow than to live at ease in ones
own town house." But-well, after
a series of rounds with the editors,
the sweat of the brow seemed to be
more in evidence than either noble
ness or bread.
1t was with distinct sigh that the
young cartoonist put away the re-
mains of her simple supper and sank
down on the rug before the fire. And
then it was that she first heard the
violin. Some one in the next room
y>1o
of sound as though the player was
dreaming of other days. Eleanor
found herself forgetting the harass-
ing present and drifting backward to
the times of her careless-hearted
childhood when she was a wild young
tomboy with all a boys sense of
honor and girls willfulness. Well.
she had wound up by drawing car
toons. she was making a living for
herself and helping the home folk.
Not much compared with all those
beautiful poetic ideals of youth, but
still something. This was the frame
of mind that the solo left with her
and she went to bed grateful for
contentment.
The next evening she hurried
through her tea and laid down on
the rug in eager anticipation. The
violin did not fail her. Softly, sweet
ly as before, it began it's story. But
it was no longer her story that it
told. She felt her sympathies yearn-
ing vaguely toward an unknown sad
ness. What was it the violin whis-
pered of as it faltered on through
those bars of exquisite melancholy?
Woodlands without, songs of birds,
fields of flowers with the hum of
bees-lonely, lonely!-solitude, as of
mountains snow-capped and desolate.
1t came to her at last that it was
the heart of the player that had
crept into the violin's song; without
pausing to reflect Eleanor felt sud
denly sorry for her unknown neigh
Dor. Sympathy rushed in with a
gush Of warmth and the violin fall
tered on. She fell to dreaming and
for the first time in many months
her own ego did not obscure her
vision. Compared to that lonely life
next door how much had she to be
thankful for!
Evening after evening through that
long dark winter the violin's music
stole out upon the sixth-story still
ness, singing SO sweetly its wistfu
song; and day by day the cir
gained in strength and purity. The
editors no longer received her work
with wrinkle between their brows
but occasionally their eyes creased a
the corners, and their checks grew
larger. Elanor thanked them will
her lips, but her heart gave it's graft
tude to the violin.
One day they met; it was strang'
that they had not met before sine
both had lived so long on the sam,
floor, and Elanor did not know tina
he was the man who played the vic
lin. But that night she found a nev
note in the solo and the next da,
she went about with q half-forme,
conviction that she would speak t,
him before she slept.