Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1910-04-17
By Max MARGIN

worth shall give YOU But Il tell YOU anyhow
just because of Ruth. She'll be glad to hear it."
We'll, what is it A raise in pay?' demanded the
father.
Its better than raise, Samuels replied The
lady from up telephoned to have table for six
reserved for tonight. She's coming down with
Bauer with Bauer he emphasized, and she wants
Ruth to be sure to play your composition, Children
of Israel. for him."
The news squeezed all the anger out of Altchewski
crept over his features Ruth Ruth he called.
You may come in. Did you hear? The lady from
up town has kept her promise. Bauer will hear
you play tonight. Our day has come!"
Ruth found her father pacing up and down the
room in an ecstasy of anticipation. His mind eaped
skyward, high above the clouds, into heaven of
happiness which reSounded with the triumph of
Altchewski.
My genius will be transmitted to the world
through YOU he said to the daughter returning
earth for a moment Nov we shall receive the
reward of strug! es.
Remember the miseries of delusive expecta-
ton cautioned Samuels.
'Deusve, delusive!' gasped the composer. No
longer delusive! They will be realized tonight. My
daughter will leave the ruck of the eating house for
the great composer. Ruth he murmured our
emancipation is at hand. He has only to hear you,
to recognize your genius You will not be restau-
rant fiddler much longer.
Enwrapped in his fancy, the father was uncon-
scous of the soft radiance his daughter shed on
Samuels. When he became of the young
mans presence again. he forgot his antipathy for the
sutton, in his gratitude to the messenger who had
brought the good news that Bauer leader of the
Philharmonic, would hear Ruth play the composition
of her father.
''Now do you see how ridiculous it is for you to
hope to win herr" Altchewski declared. Don't you
why she cannot tie herself to you? You're
good young man, in your own way; but she's
artist genius my daughter and my pupil. We
have the soul of the musician that's the soul of the
poet. You have the gross soul of the eating house
man. You cannot help it for God has ordained
it So.
'Rats" growled the young man derisively as he
left
CAMUELS proprietor of the Golden Fleece resta,-
rant surveyed the long room of his eating house,
at the same time smiling welcome on the diners
who began to straggle in The place had undergone
pleasant transformation in the last six months.
The red wall paper had given way to panels OF ivory
the painted cherubs dsporting downy clouds.
Clusters of electric lights peerng from behind paper
foliage replaced the old battered chandeliers and
shed their subdued beams on the gisening polish of
the chairs, the unworn carpet, and the
round tables, Immediately white with their covers
of new linen.
The sun of prosperity shining on Samuels
Steadily he had raised the price of his meals from
thirty-fve cents seventy fve. thereby edgng
the old customers and gathering to himself the elite
Of the East Side,-the young LAWYERS doctors, manu-
paid musicians Yiddish journalists, and actors
Also, automobiles stopped not nfrequenty in front
of the door and deposited parties from up town.
With the genial familiarity of the restaurant man
toward his regular patrons, Samuels sat down at a
table at which group of five was struggling with
"Weil,'' he began abstractedly Il picked up a
beggar and found genius.
SApropos of WHAT" drawled Pincus the poet,
whose verses, published in pamphlet form, had a
phenomenal sale.
Samues jerked his thumb in the direction of the
little platform at end of the room. Ruth
to play her first number Being the virtuoso of the
place. she played only five solos each night the rest