The Music Master Part 17

When Von Barwig came in, the men were in his room practising their parts of the symphony. His arrival put an end to further work. They wanted to talk about their "grand new engagement," as Pinac called it.

Von Barwig produced some cigars that Van Praag had forced on him, and the men sat talking of their prospects, and smoking until the room looked like an inferno.

While they were debating as to where they should dine that night, there was a knock at the door, and, Von Barwig hastened to open it. A somewhat portly, rather well-dressed, middle-aged individual entered.

He was followed by another person, a tall, lantern-jawed man of the artisan type, who looked around defiantly as he came into the room.

"Does Anton Von Barwig live here?" demanded the first comer.

Von Barwig did not know the gentleman who made the inquiry.

"Why, it is Schwarz! how do you do, Mr. Schwarz?" said Pinac, coming forward and shaking hands with him, and he then introduced him to Von Barwig as Mr. Wolf Schwarz, the Secretary of the Amalgamated Musical a.s.sociation.

Mr. Schwarz then introduced his companion as Mr. Ryan, the representative of the Brickmakers' Union. "Shake hands with Professor Von Barwig, Mr. Ryan," said Schwarz. Mr. Ryan did so with such enthusiasm that Von Barwig was glad to withdraw his hand.

Mr. Schwarz was an Americanised German, far more American than the most dyed-in-the-wool, natural-born citizen of the United States. Had any one called him a German, he would have repudiated the suggestion as an insult. He knew the American Const.i.tution backward, and he determined that others should know it, too. His demand for his rights as an American citizen was the predominating characteristic of his nature, for he was a born demagogue of the most p.r.o.nounced type. It did not take Mr. Schwarz long to make clear the object of his visit.

"You don't come to our rooms very much, Von Barwig," he said.

Von Barwig pleaded stress of business as an excuse.

"If you had," went on Mr. Schwarz, taking up the thread of his remarks without noticing Von Barwig's apology, "you'd know that Van Praag and those fellows up at Harmony Hall are on the black-list."

"Black-list?" said Von Barwig apprehensively.

"Mr. Ryan here represents a delegation from the Brickmakers' Union,"

stated Mr. Schwarz, coughing and clearing his throat, thus indicating the importance of the statement that he was about to make.

"Well?" asked Von Barwig, who did not see the value of the information just furnished by Mr. Schwarz.

"Well," repeated Mr. Schwarz, "The Brickmakers' Union has just affiliated with our musical a.s.sociation."

"Music and bricks--affiliated!" The idea rather appealed to Von Barwig's sense of humour and he laughed. "Music and bricks," he repeated, but this attempt at pleasantry did not meet with much response from Mr. Schwarz. That gentleman merely shrugged his shoulders while Mr. Ryan, the brickmakers' delegate, contented himself with squirting some tobacco juice into the adjacent fireplace and tilting his hat, which he had neglected to remove, over one eye, while he surveyed Von Barwig with an unpleasant stare from the other, thus indicating that he wanted no nonsense.

"Music and bricks," repeated Von Barwig, who evidently enjoyed the incongruity of the combination. Then noticing that Ryan was standing he said with a smile, "Brother artist, be seated!" Pinac and Fico roared with laughter. Mr. Ryan sat down, mumbling to himself that that sort of sarcasm didn't go with him; he was a workman, not an artist.

Von Barwig apologised and then, looking at Schwarz, waited for him to speak. A very awkward pause ensued.

"You've had an offer from the Harmony Hall Concerts, under the management of Van Praag," stated Schwarz.

"Yes," a.s.sented Von Barwig, who began to perceive for the first time that his visitors had come on a matter of more or less serious Import.

"Well," began Schwarz, "you've got to hold off for the present."

"I do not understand," said Von Barwig.

"You've got to throw up the job," broke in Mr. Ryan, emphasising the statement by allowing his walking stick to fall heavily on a pile of music which lay on the piano.

Von Barwig looked at him but did not speak.

"You can't go on," said Schwarz.

"Not while scabs are working there," added Mr. Ryan sententiously.

Von Barwig tried to speak but could not; words would not come. His heart had almost stopped beating. Finally he managed to gasp, "What does it mean; all this?"

"Our a.s.sociation has been notified that Van Praag is having his new music hall built with non-union bricks, and----"

"Scabs," broke in Mr. Ryan, once more banging the inoffensive music with his stick. "Scabs! We called out our men and they put in scab carpenters. The carpenters went out and the plumbers have gone out; they've all gone out, and now it's only fair--that--you should go out.

Stick together and we'll win; in other words, 'united we stand, divided we fall.' Am I right, Schwarz?"

Mr. Schwarz did not commit himself as to the merits of the case; he was not there for that purpose. He was there to carry out the wishes of the a.s.sociation, so he merely contented himself with saying that the musicians would undoubtedly have to go out under the term of the affiliation.

"Music and bricks has got to stand by each other," said Mr. Ryan, unconsciously quoting Von Barwig. "They've got to, or there'll be no music; and no bricks."

Music and bricks, then, was no longer a joke. It was a reality, a dreadful impossibility that had become true; and Von Barwig's heart sank as he looked at his friends, and saw by their faces that they, too, realised what it meant. They were in the midst of a sympathetic strike; the question of the right or wrong of it did not appear. It was immaterial; right or wrong, they must go out because others went; those were the orders from headquarters.

"Of course, Von Barwig, you'll stand for whatever the Amalgamated stands for?" said Schwarz.

"You'll resign until the matter is settled, I presume?" queried Mr.

Ryan. Von Barwig shook his head. A faint "no" issued from his throat, which had literally dried up from fear; the fear of losing the happiness he had had just now, the fear of going back to that dreaded night-drudgery again. All their hopes were shattered, their antic.i.p.ations were not to be realised.

"Of course--I--I am of the Union. I stand by the Union--of course.

I--but it's--it's hard!" Then with an effort, "It will not last long, eh?"

"No," said Mr. Ryan, "it won't last a month! We'll put them out of business if it does. They'll weaken, Mr. Barwig, you'll see! They'll weaken all right." The ashen appearance of Von Barwig's face, the abject despair he saw depicted there aroused the man's sympathy. "It won't be long, Mr. Barwig," he repeated in a softened voice. "I know it's hard, but what are we to do? If we don't stand together, we'll be swamped."

"That's right," said Schwarz.

"It ain't sympathy; it's self-defence, Barwig," declared Mr. Ryan, uttering what he thought was a great truth.

"Yes, yes," muttered Von Barwig. Hope had gone completely from him now.

"Self-defence," he repeated, and then he laughed bitterly. "The art of music progresses. Wagner should be glad that he is dead."

"Wagner? Who is Wagner?" inquired Mr. Ryan.

"No one, no one!" replied Von Barwig, shaking his head, "he did not belong to the Union----"

"Then he's a scab," remarked Mr. Ryan.

Von Barwig looked at him and burst out laughing, the laughter of despair. Pinac and Fico looked at each other. Von Barwig's laugh grated harshly on their ears; they did not like to see their beloved friend act in that manner. Pinac touched him gently on the arm and looked appealingly at him. Von Barwig nodded, then rising from his chair, with his habitual gentleness, suggested that the interview was at an end. Messrs. Schwarz and Ryan bowed themselves out and the four friends were left there alone with their misery.

Von Barwig turned to his friends. It was for them that his heart bled, for they had resigned their positions at his request. For the first time since their friendship he had been the cause of misfortune coming to them. He felt it more than all the disappointments that he had experienced during his stay in America. "I am accursed," he thought, "doomed always to disappointments, and I am now a curse to others, to those I love." He tried to tell them how grieved he was at their misfortune, but they would not allow him to apologise, so he sat down in his old armchair and tried to smoke, but he could not. His heart was as heavy as lead. They saw this and they felt for him; they felt his sufferings more than they did their own.

"We have resign from the _cafe_, yes, but we are glad, d.a.m.n glad," said Pinac, lying like a true Gallic gentleman. "Von Barwig, I tell you we are deuced d.a.m.n glad," he repeated with emphasis.

Von Barwig silently shook his hand and smiled.

"I said to h.e.l.l with the _cafe_--I say it now!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Fico. "The _cafe_ to h.e.l.l, and many of him!"