Waterbury evening Democrat., 1908-09-28

squeak, Sald Felder to him. Do yOt
 realize that? In five minutes nor,
 you'd have been handled sight wors,
 than you handled your man, let me tel
 you"
 The man of no memories smiled, tht
 same smile that had infuriated the bar
 room-and yet somehow 1t was mort
 difficult to smile now.
 '1s it possible" he asked, "tha
 through an unlucky error I have
 trounced the local archbishop"
 Fielder looked at him narrowly. Be
 meath the sarcasm he distinguished un
 familiarity, aloofness, a genuine aston
 fshment. The appearance in the person of Hugh Stires of the qualities of nerve and courage had surprised him out of
 his usual indifference. The "tinhorI gambler had fought like man. His present sang froid was as singular
 Had he been an absolute stranger ir the town he might have acted and spoken no differently. Felder's smooth shaven, earnest face was puzzled as he answered curtly:
 You've trounced a man who will re. member 1t long time." .
 "Ah!' said the man addressed easily. "He has a better memory than l, i then"'
 He gazed over the heads of the silent roomful to the simmering street. where Devlin, with the aid of supporting arm. was staggering into the saloon in which his humiliation had begun. ! 'They seem agitated." he said. The l feeling of embarrassment was passing; the old daring was lifting. His glance, scanning the room. set itself on shab- by clear figure in the background apol- ogetlc. yet keenly and pridefully inter- ested. A whimsical light was in his eye. He crossed to him and, reach ing out his hand, drew the violin from under his arm
 Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast" he said, and opening the door. he tucked the instrument under his chin and began to play.
 What absolute contempt of danger, what insane prompting possessed, can scarcely be imagined. Fielder looked for quick end to the folly, but he saw the men in the street even as they moved forward waver and pause. With almost the first note it had come to them that they were hearing music such as the squeaking fiddles of the dance halls never knew. Those on the opposite pavement crossed over. and men far down the street stood still to listen.
 More than the adopts cunning that had at first tingled in his fingers at sight of the instrument was in Harry Sanderson's playing. The violin had been the single passion which the old Satan Sanderson had carried with him into the new career. The impulse to "soothe the savage breast had been a flare of the old character he had been relieving, but the music, begun in bravado. swept him almost instantly beyond its bounds He had never been
 
 playing as he had never played in his life, with inspiration and abandon. There was diabolism in 1t. He had forgotten the fight, the crowd. his own mocking mood. He had forgotten where he was. He was afloat on a fuctuant tide of melody that was car rTing him back, back, into the far away past toward all that he had loved and lost.
 Its Home, Sweet Home,'" said Barney McGinn. ''No, it's Annie Laurie No, it's-hanged if know what it is,' The player himself could not have told him. He was in kind of tranced dream. The self made music was call ing with sweet insistence to buried things that were stirring from a long sleep. It sent gulp into the throat of more than one standing moveless in the street. It brought a suspicious moisture to Tom Felder's eyes. It drew Mrs. Halloran from the kitchen, wip- ing her hands on her apron. It called to girl who crouehed In the upper hall with her miserable face buried fin her hands, drew her down the stair l to the office door, her eyes wide with breathless wonder, her face glistening ] with feeling. i From the balcony Jessica had wit messed the fight without understand | ing its meaning. 4 fascination she ] could not gainsay had glued her eyes . to the struggle. It was he-it was the . face she knew. seen but once for a l single moment in the hour of her mar r1age, but stamped indelibly upon her It was no longer smooth shaveD. and it was changed, eviliy | changed. But It was the same. There was recklesness and mockery in 1t and l yet strength. not weakness. Summed and despiSed as he might be-the chief actor. as 1t seemed 10 her. In a cheap lnd desperate barroom afTray, a coarse nffair of fisticufTs in the public street | yet there was something intrepid fin his bearing, something splendid in his victory.
 To Jessica. standing with hands close clasped. the music seemed the agony ] ,f remorse for past fall. the cry of a 'orlorn soul. knowing itself cast out lpEealing to its good angel for pity i