Wauwatosa news. [volume] (Wauwatosa, Wis.) 1900-1948, 1904-03-26
The TRAMP'S LOVE STORY.
By Harold Gibson.

Tramp he was-he would have told
you so himsclf-but no broken down,
dirty outcast from society. His sun
burnt face was clean as soft river water
could make it; his clothes were old, but
with a decent, gray age, free from all
faint of frowsiness. If YOU had asked
him how he lived, he would have an
swered you, "As a king, eating and
drinking my fill. and with subjects that
come and pay me tribute as / bid them.
And here" he would add, holding Up
bag Of faded cloth that hung from his
shoulder, here is my magic"
So, indeed. it was-an old violin, slum-
bering, but ready to wake and sing and
steal al hearts at the bidding of its
master.
And if you had asked him if he We're
happy. he would have told you "In sum
mer time. happy as the day IS long. I
wander through the villages, playing IN
the market places and they look for my
coming and regret my going. But in the
winter-no. Last year, when it was so
cold, played every evening in a room in
the West End of London-undergrou
where boys and pah!-drank
and smoked anG my nose was filled with
cheap scents and the fumes Of beer and
wine, and the tobacco smoke stung my
eyes, and--ah! do you smell the hay?"
And then he would be laughing again,
and say:
but man must live; oh, yes, he
must live through the winter so that he
may ENJOY the summer again. Only, if
had been a dormouse, or a hedgehog,
to sleep. II was unkind not to make me
hedgehog"
and what is your name?"
At that he would have bowed elabo-
Iately, and introduced himself as "Signor
Contradmi," then whispered, laughing:
But my fathers name was Robinson.
Ii | had been Robinson, too. l should
have sat on STOOL and then. perhaps,
in a leather chair, driving hard bargains
and filing my pockets with money But
II AZ. SIgnor Contradini, and | have
nothing but my fiddle l am a disap-
pointment, a good -for-nothing, whose
name is never mentioned by his family.
But one day / will arise and 90 to my
father, not to say / have sinned be-
cause | haven't-not bit of it--but to
play to him. Oh yes, / will play to him,
and we shall see. My little friend here
and he would hold the old brown violin
lovingly shall unlock the gate of Para
disc for me- That was gypsy's pro-
phecy; l played to the Romany folk an
hour for it. Only / can't make up my
mind if the place where my father lives
is Paradise-not yet
And when will YOU make up your
mind?"
when I meet woman / can love and
want her Tor a wife. Then Signor Con-
tradini will die, and l shall be-oh, so
respectable Robinson"
1t happened, on a bright summer morn
ing that Contradini, in his wanderings,
came to the gate of a great mansion.
Now of all things in the world. save his
fiddle and old trees, Contradini loved old
houses, so he passed in boldly, bent on
feast for his eyes. This he found in
a few PAGES. not furnished by stone and
timber, but by flesh and blood, and sweet
with youth as the other mellow with
age,
Terraced lawns. bright with flowers,
sloped down from the house; on the low.
est, girl was feeding some peacocks
Contradlm stepped, the house forgotten
i'll greater contentment. Hidden
among the trees that bordered the drive
he watched her for several minutes. and
rhen-forgetful there would be guard
ians OF such beauty-the foolish fellow
must needs want to play to her. But
that he did not, for, standing with the
old violin tucked under his chin, and tie
bow nicely poised he was tapped smart.
~ on the shoulder, and turning, found
himself facing tall man of middle age,
and knew MIN to be aVprV
What are you doing here? Be OF
yith yOu!'
He was no servants it was the lord of
the manor himself. Contradini, who dis
liked wordy warfare profoundly and
recognized the right of gentleman to
turn any one off his own estate-even
another gentleman-tucked his fiddle I'M.
der his arm, quietly begged the angry
squre's pardon, and without receiving
il walked back to the gate, while the
disturber of his peace was content to
watch him pass out and tramp away
along the dusty road.
Driven out of Paradise" unused Con
tradini But I'll unlock the gate yet"
And all that afternoon. solitary in
wood he played his violin-not the CAV
melodies with which he delighted the
country folk, but music of the great
masters, delving in his mind fol it, half
forgotten as it was, and finding it with
a rare delight
The long, not afternoon waned the sun
sank, and the dusk fell softly over Con-
tradini's Paradise. Sir Charles and his
daughter, having dined, were seated on
the stone terrace that ran along the front
of the old house. They had been silent
Tor some time, when, in the stiffness of
the summer evening sound startled
them.
Who's playing violin!" demanded
Sir Charles, of no one in particular.
Who was it hut Contradini, snug be.
hind bush, on the far side of the lawn?
II the gate of Paradise would not OPEN
we'll as long as a man had legs, he could
climb over. And play he would, in spite
of angry gentlemen.
Sir Charles would have sought out the
trespasser, but his daughter begged him
to stay. servant who appeared below
was ordered back, and .Contradini, undis-
/