The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1904-04-17


annum, most of which sum found its way
into his landladys pocket was all that he
had TO keep up the dignity of the curate Of
St. Paul's: and he had other calls upon
him-for his generous instincts had been
accurately gagged by sundry choir boys in
tcrested in the formation of cricket and
football cubs-he found the struggle for ex-
istence sufficiently keen.
So much SO that it had come to this-he
must exc out his stipend somehow without
throwing himself the fund which exists
to prevent young curates from absolutely
starving.
What was he to do? That was the ques-
ton. He could not write for the news
papers. There was not enough literary
work for the second and third sons of mid
dle-class parents, much less for seventh
son in curacy worth one hundred pounds
per annum. Besides, everybody wrote now
adays.
But everybody did not play. And the
curate looked at his violin. the only COM
panion of his solitude, and wondered
whether he could not turn his skill with the
instrument to good account.
1.-The curate of st. Pauls taking in pupils!
How funny" And he laughed half-heart-
eddy at the idea.
The next moment he remembered that his
position was not a subject for levity. AS if
the Rev. Septimus was ever guilty of such
a crime against the propreties He must
find another way oct.
He thought hard but not even the ghost
of an idea entered his head, and. weary of
cudgelng his brain. he at last sought di-
the news to interest him. and turned to the
Wants" What was this? His attention
was arrested by an advertisement, and he
read it again and again.
Wanted, lessons in violin playing from a
first-class amateur-Address, Box "a, Ga
zette Office.
"A first-cass AMATEUR" Well, he had
always been considered such, he tod him
self. And as if to test his own skill, he
seized his violin. placed an "Andante' by
Chopin on the music-stand, and began to
play as though his life depended on a cor
rect rendering of the piece.
Dear me, what's come over Mr.. Sisson?'
exclaimed the landlady to herself in the
room below. playing his fiddle at this
time of night.
1t was. indeed. late for music practice in
this quiet street of subsurbia. But the
curate needed not the hour. He played one
piece after another. Bach. Meyerbeer. Ros-
SIM. Schubert-he interpreted them all.
And being satisfied with his performance
he sat down and answered the advertise
ment His melancholy had now disappeared
He was filled with mighty hope. the hope
of earning a little extra money to tide him
over his difficulty.
Great was his surprise on coming down tc
his boiled egg, toast and tea three days
afterwards. to find scented envelope or
his table. He tore it open with feverisf
haste.
"A pupil pupl,' he cried, and read ir
delicately feminine handwriting:
'Wn Mr.. S. Sisson please call at the
above address on Wednesday afternoon al
8 o'clock?'
That was all.
tialities of this scented note were very
great. Clearly here was a pupil who would
be prepared to pay well for excellent tut
ton.
il right he asked himself, for a curats
to teach the violin for money!
He argued the matter, and came 10 th'
conclusion that he was doing the church
a service by keeping of the sustentatior
fund. AT any rate. he would not be guilty