Manchester Democrat., 1909-01-06


feeling of embarrassment was passing;
the old daring was lifting. His glance,
scanning the room. set itself on IL shah
by. clear figure in the background apol-
osetic. vet kcenly and pridefully inter-
ested. y whimsical light was in his
eye. He crossed to him and. reach
ing ont his hand. drcw 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 lie imagined Fielder looked
for quick cud to the folly. but he
saw the men in the street even rs
they moved forward waver and pause.
With almost the first note it had come
to them that they We're hearing music
such as the squeakfng 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 t'.an 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 Sandersoa had carrietl with him
into the new career. The impulse to
''sootlle the savage breast" had been Il
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
an Indifferent performer. Now lie was
playing rs he had never played In his
life. with inspiration and abandon.
There was Il diabolism in ii. He had
forgotten the fight. the crowd. his own
mocking mood. He had forgotten
where he was. lie was afloat on
fluctuant tide of melody that was car
rying him back. back, into the far
and lost
"It's Home, Sweet Home,'' said
Barney IcGinn. NO, it's Annie
Laurie No. it's-hanged If l know
what 1t isl
The player himself could not have
told him. He was in a kind of tranced
dream. The self made music was call
ing with. Il sweet insistence to buried
things that We're stirring from long
sleep. =. 1t sent n glllp into the throat
of more than one standing movcless
in the street. 1t brought suspicious
moisture to Tom FclGer's eyes. 1t drew
Mrs. Halloran from the kitchen, wip.
ing her hands on her apron. 1t called
TO II girl Ylo crouched in the upper
hall With her miserable face buried In
her hands, drew her down the stair
to the Office door, her eyes wide With
braa .hless wonder, her face glistening
with feeling.
From the balcony Jcssica had wit
messed TIE fight without understand
ing its meeting. \ fascination she
could not sainsny had glued her eyes
to the struggle. 1t was he-it was the
fare she knew, seen but once for
s:aglc moment in. the lour of her mar.
ri::g2, but stamped indclibly upon her
memory. Ii was no longer smooth
shavcn. and 1t was changed, evilly
changed But 1t was the same. There
was rccklesncss and mockcry in it and
yet strength, Eot weakness. Stunned
and despised as he might be-thc chief
actor, as it seemed to her, in cheap
and desperate barroom affray. a coarse
affair of fisticuffs in the public street
yet there was something intrepid III
his bearing, something splendid III his
victory.
TO Jessica, standing with hands close
clasped, the music seemed the agony
of rcmorse for past fall, the cry of II
forlorn soul, knowing itself cast out,
appealing to its good angel for pity
and pardon. Hugh had often played
to her. lightly. carelessly. rs he did all
things. She had deemed it only one of
his many clever amateurish accom-.
plishmcnts. Now it struck her with q
pang that there had been in him o
deeper side that she had not guessed.
Since her wedding day she had
thought of hcr marriage as loathed
bond, from which his false pretense
had absolvel her. Now 4 doubt OF her
own position assai'cd her. Had lone.
illness and outlawry driven him into
the career that had made him Stunned
even in this rough town, course
which she. had she been faithful to
her vow "for Letter, for worse" nigh
have turned to his redemption? God
forgave, but she had not forgiven.
Smarting tears scorched her eyelids.
For Harry Sanderson the music was
the imprisoned memory, crying out
strongly il: the first tongue 1t had
found. The slumbering qualities that
had stirred uaeasily at sight of the
face on the balcony awoke. Who he
was anl had been lie knew no more
than before but the new writhing self
consciousness, starting from its sleep
with almost Il sense of shock, became
conscious of the gaping crowd, the
dusty street. the red sunset and of
himself at the end of q vulgar brawl
saving a violin in silly braggadocio in
a hotel doorway.
The music faltered and broke off.
The bow dropped at his feet. He
picked 1t up fumblingly and turned
back into the Office as Il man entered
from n rear door. The newcomer was
Michael Halloran, the hotels proprie-
tor, short. thickset and surly. Asleep
in his room, he had neither seen the
fracas nor hearl the playing He saw
instantly, however. that something un-
usual was forward and, blinking on
the threshold, caught sight of the man
who was handing the violin back to its
owner. He clinched his fist. with n
scowl, and started toward him.
His wife caught his arm.
"Oh, Michael. Michaeln she cried.
Say nothing, lad! Ye should have
heard him plnyn'
'.Play" lie exclaimed. LET him go
fiddle TO his side partner Prendcrgast,
and the other rilTralf he's run with the
year past" He turned blackl% to Har-
ry. Take yourself from this house.
Hugh Stircs." he sail. whether all's