The Washington herald. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1906-1939, 1913-05-18


Of the fellows as he waited in the ante
room for his turn to come. Twas no end
solemn not being sure you'd come out on top.
He was next at last. He touched the strings
with skilled fingers. All was we'll, his theme
was singing in his head
With all the confidence In the world he
turned to go up the steps. Somebody
had dropped program there, and he idly
picked it UP. Tomorrow he would be
able to send one to his mother, and of
course, he would be able to write her that
he had won the prize-the prize for "a
theme of original composition"
With gasp Duchy stood still;
the world turned black. His hand
dropped and crashed discord Like the
swapping of a string his chance lay broken.
He had stolen that theme; it was not his
own! 1t had not come to him on the winds
of the night, but some one had sent it.
Some ones song was waiting to bring him
the prize, the prize that made for fame, the
prize that would go to mother.
He had no time to think They pushed
him out to take his place on the program.
He saw nothing knew nothing except that
one awful fact, he was going to play stolen
theme
Two swift steps brought him to the piano,
where his accompanist awaited in wonder
He snatehed the score from the rack, hunted
a moment in his portfolio on the piano,
changed the sheets and stepped back to his
place. He raised his violin, in the dreadful
hush while. every one waited, tucked it un-
der his chin, the chin with the Santa Claus
double in it, motioned to his astonished &C
companist drew his bow, and the strains
of the Christmas song came signing out.
1t was hopeless; Duchy knew it. Desper-
ately he looked up. How different it was
from the freglow at home How they
danced, the blazing lights, the wiggiing
fans, the diamonds and things that ached
your eyes!
He swallowed hard, and the violin
sobbed out its simple little story. Yet it
was mothers song; he had made it; she
loved it. He forgot everything else but her
face; he was playing to her, and the song
was his own.
1t sang itself out in a.tremble of.sweetness,
and Duchy stumbled from the stage He
slumped in miserable heap, mopped his
burning face, and waited. Gee! How they
were clapping! Some one dashed up, waving
wildly, go back, quickp
Duchy stared. Whats upp he gasped.
Quick They're calling for you. Go
back and play It again"
Duchy made dab at his limp collar, ran
his fingers through his hair, grabbed up his
violin and was jammed up the steps. What
should he do? The room was a mufle of
kid-glove clapping. A big bunch of yellow
chrysanthemums tumbled at his feet.
PLAY" yelled professor from the eur-
tain behind him. "Play it again.
Duchy raised his bow and
played. He began to catch on.
N%- 1t was because they liked 1t,
III mothers Christmas songi What
|, was it the professor was saying?
He had won the prize. The clap
ping grew to thunder. Duchy
kept his wits enough to bow, and
when he finally ran down the
steps he vowed it was worse than being
caught by .Chinky Chinaman!
| Everybody congratulated him, every
body asked him how he happened to think
of the theme; all the other fellows
pounded him on the back and said, Good
old Piano Legsp
Duchy didn't say much. He was think
ing how narrowly he had escaped being
thief.
Over the supper-table next night Duchy