Evening star., 1926-03-13

before, was Padraic O'Shea, a young
violinist whom she had known cas-
ually for some time.
O'Shea was about 26, and had a
great future before him said Those
Who-know.
His friends, and they were numer-
Gus, were devoted to him. IL he did
anything genially outrageous, as he
sometimes did-the blood of his Irish
father and Catalonian mother prov
ing an explosive mixture in young
veins-they would say: 20, it's only
Paddy O'Shea! He doesn't mean bit
of harm" And the fact was that
Padraic, never meaning harm, did
more than many persons who mean 1t
thoroughly, but are without his vol
canic ability.
In appearance he was good to look
at-a clean six feet of slender vigor
| with his Catalonian mothers gait and
carriage. and his fathers ripply, blue
black hair and black blue eyes. Into
these eyes, on occasions, leaped a
| flame Of lighter blue, like the flame of
| driftwood This flame was apt to leap
when Padraic meant no harm and did
most.
He often played at the Fraser's
Tuesday evening, which were given
over to music, and though music had
no significance for Celia she always
| liked to watch Padraic O'Shea when
he was playing.
She had a weakness for well shaped,
| individual hands. and Padraic's hands
| had both these qualities to an unusual
degree.
When his fingers pressed strongly
and quiveringly on the strings. to pro-
duce vibration in some long drawn
note-his whole hand seemed to
flicker like a white flame against the
dark, glossy wood of his violin.
She wished sometimes that she
could appreciate the music he drew
from II, for he himself struck her as
so beautiful when he played that she
was sure his music must be beautiful
also, had she only the ears to hear it..
Try as she might, however, all that
she could make out of the lovely
sounds was varied and piercing bug
zing, as If a huge, impassioned mos
quito. large as a pigeon. were hang
ing in one spot, supported by its
ardently whirring wings.
This absurd fancy annoyed her so
much that she tried very hard to drive
ii away, but always when O'Shea was
playing, there too was the mammoth
mosquito, poised just above his head,
in a frenZied ectasy OF buZZing.
On this particular evening, as soon
as he had ended his last concert, he
came over TO her. and in his delight
full voice which had the Tilt of the
Irish in 1t. but not its brogue:
Did you like that last concerto?
l played it for you"
And he sat down on low stool be-
side her. his violin still in his hand.
Celia's eyes brushed his for an in
stant, then looked away as at some
thing very sad in the distance.
II am SO sorry" she mumured, "but
I don't understand music. 1t is just
sound TO me. ! know though how
wonderfully you play"
She just touched his eyes with hers
again.
Il think 1t was most kind of you to
play especially for me. thank you
just as much as If ] could appreciate
your music as I ought to-"
Don't mind returned Padraic
softly, "you are music yourself-Why
should you need any other?"
Celia was so astonished at this that
her lips parted silently. as for the
third time she glanced at him.
Then she exclaimed:
III am like music?"
Padraic shook his thick hair. so that
one curved. ripply lock divided from
the others and fell over his cheek.
II didn't say you are like music, but
that you are music" he corrected.
Just one perfect harmony from head
to foot. Do you mind?"
NO" said Celia, ''it is the greatest