The Birmingham age-herald., 1907-11-03
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BY ". B. M. FERGUSON
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kSskfs{9sGfstSsasJstfs fs<SetJsSstsNrsS$sN(s%4 away. His chance in life had come, and 1t meant everything to him. It meant everything to Miss Scott, but he did not know it. She knew and I knew that her chance of happiness lay in Owens sue cess that night. Success or failure, she loved him, believed in him, but Owen would never ask her to share failure.
 "The concert was to take place in q week, and so Owen shut himself in his little room, the score and the picture of the girl he loved before him. He was preparing for his last appearance in that great serio-comic tragedy of life called Making Good
 ''1Nhe following day l left town on in1- portant business. 1 had to go. And 1 went, blind to Owen's condition. 1 should have let business float, Harrison, and watched owen. For the boy was delir- ious with the hope of sudden success success and starvation. Do you know, he hadn't drawn a cent over his own pitiful balance at the bank? Not a cent. He said he had no right when his future was a gamble. l found all this out afterward. I don't think he knew his own condition. That week he seldom left his room, sell dom ate, seldom slept. His whole soul was concentrated on the score, the girl he loved and what 1t all meant to him. ne nlBnL or the concert lOulu Hllu llNlhb on nerve alone-keyed up to the snap ping point, the word success beating, beating, beating in his brain. He was practically delirious from oyerwork. lack of nourlshment, nervous excitement. He was due at the Cosmopolitan at 10 o'clock. He hadn't had two hours consecutive sleep in a week. At 6 o'clock he threw himself on the bed, trying to get grip on himself. When next he woke it was F.I- nrrrAx. faa1l sa that he thinks he went 8 good many de- grees insane at that moment. His chance iu life was slipping, slipping away at every clock tick; running through his iev- erish fingers like water. And with every second there went with 1t all that made life worth the living. His brain in a chaos, he seized his score, showed his violin under his coat and rushed bare headed into the street.
 'The Cosmopolitan was a good half mile distant owen, in his half-demented if he had even the money to pay Tor it. He took to his heels down the crowd ed streets, children jeering at him, pass ersby staring, policemen in two minds whether to halt him for thief. Breath less exhausted, dazed, he at last came within sight of the great opera house. He rushed around to the side, intending to go in by the stage entrance. He pushed open door. He found himself in a brilliantly lighted saloon, the reek Of liquor in his nostrils and all that he loathed before his eyes. Men, thinking him an itinerant beggar, as he looked asked him to gimme some ragtime on the fiddle In an agony of humiliation and desperation the boy blundered through the nearest door he came to. He found himself in the court yard back of the Cosmopolitan. His brain had lost all grip on everything. The one idea, to get inside the building, to make good was forcing itself in on him, his lost chance goadlng on to madness. In the darkness he saw the rear fire-escape at the opera house rising into the night be- fore him. Vaguely he remembered scrambling up. The night was humid for March, and a door stood open in his path. The perfume of women, the warm, humid air of a closely packed theatre 1 came to him. With the true artistic in stinct he sensed the proximity of the vast audience. At last he was on that great battlefield, so long dreamed of. Then everything suddenly became blur, and John Owen stood up under the stars on the fre-escape balcony of the first gallery and bowed gravely to the empty courtyard before placing his violin to his cheek.
 And all this time, Harrison, was sweating by the side of Miss Scott in a lower tier box. I had come long dis tance to see John. Owens first appearance, reaching the theatre at 9:45. I shall al- ways remember that night-always-M Scott and I sitting together, impatiently waiting for Owens arrival. oblivious to all else: neither of us afraid, for we be- lieved in him. The girl had a concern trated look of intense happiness in her eyes. But as the minutes passed they grew perplexed then troubled and finally agonized. The audience was impatient They had heard much of John Owen
 And still the minutes passed. Miss Scott's face now was as white her neck and shoulders, and her lips trem- bled. Only her eyes strove to be brave. And then, by love, Harrison, wbat-hap- pened next was greater than the great est payl As we sat there, numb with misery, the house aflame with impa- tience and curiosity, there suddenly came from away down the aisles, from i, the sky, as it were, the strains of a violin-music such as no soul in that house dared hoped toN hear again. It was the 'Mussoline Ocerture,' Harrison, and, forgive me. the Almighty Himself seemed to be speaking through those glorious, haunting chords. Even I had never dreamed owen capable of such hopelessly tender touch For the next ten minutes the strains of that violin owned the audience body and soul. Then it broke off short like the snapping of a golden chain. and the house, after one long sigh came to it's feet in pandemonium. I saw Miss Scott put hand to her throat give a choking little sob, then bury her face in her hands. The house thought the dramatic incident a novel idea of Scott's, and were shouting 'Encorep Encore" at