The Music Master Part 21

"I want the piano or the money," said the man automatically.

"I have not--now. To-morrow I will call."

"The money or the piano is my instructions," said the collector. Von Barwig stood as if stricken dumb. The shame, the degradation were too great. He appealed to the man with outstretched hands. Tears were in his eyes, but the man did not look at him; he went into the hall, opened the front door, and yelled out, "Come on, Bill----"

Miss Stanton arose from the piano and walked over to the window. "It is a very busy view from here, isn't it?" she said; "gracious, how crowded the streets are!"

Poor Von Barwig's cup of misery was now full. She had been a witness of his poverty. His lies about his success and his pupils were all laid bare to her; he was disgraced forever in her eyes. He had lied to her, and she had found him out.

The collector came back with the men and the process of moving the piano began. Von Barwig's sense of humour came to his rescue.

"Thank heaven they are taking that box of discords away at last! What a piano! Did you notice it, Miss Stanton?"

Miss Stanton had noticed it, and nodded, "I did indeed," she said.

"Not one note in harmonious relationship with another," went on Von Barwig, trying to smile as they upset his music on the floor. "Not a sharp or a flat that is on good terms with his neighbour."

The only reply the piano mover made was to drop one of the piano legs heavily on the floor, making the dust fly.

"The black and white keys forever at war with each other," said Von Barwig, forcing a laugh, in which his visitor joined. Seeing her merriment, Von Barwig began to recover his spirits. "The next time you call, Miss Stanton," he said, "I will have here an instrument that shall contain at least a faint suggestion of music. In the meantime I am most thankful that I have no longer to listen to a piano that sounds like a banjo."

The whole situation appealed forcefully to Miss Stanton's sense of humour, and she thoroughly enjoyed the old man's jesting. "If he can rise above a condition like that," she thought, "he must be a splendid man." She longed to comfort, to help him; but how?

As the men finally took out the piano, Von Barwig pretended to breathe a sigh of relief.

"I'm glad it's gone," he said, "you can't tell what a relief!" He laughed, but his laugh did not deceive her; her musical ear recognised its artificiality in a moment. She could feel rather than see he was suffering, and she felt for him.

They were left standing alone together. The room looked quite empty without the piano; it was like the breaking up of a home. Neither of them spoke for a moment, and Von Barwig could see that she had found him out again.

"What an awful liar she must think I am," thought he.

"Poor, dear old man trying to conceal his poverty," thought she. Then an idea came to her.

"I want you to come and see me, Herr Von Barwig," she said. "I am going to take up piano study again, and I want you to help me. I shall be at home to-morrow afternoon at three. Of course you must be very busy, but if you have no other engagement will you call?"

"I will call, madam. I--I am--not engaged at that hour," said Von Barwig gratefully, as he bowed to her. Miss Stanton acknowledged the bow.

"You won't find me a very apt pupil, but you'll take me, won't you?

Do, please take me!"

The old man could not speak; too many conflicting thoughts were working in his mind. "Take her! Good G.o.d--" The very idea overwhelmed him.

"You will take me, won't you?" she urged gently.

He took the card, and nodded. He dared not trust himself to speak; he would have broken down and he knew it.

"Good-bye!" she said. "Good-bye; it's getting so late, I must go!" She held out her hand. He took it and kissed it reverently, bowing his head as if she were a queen.

"Good-bye," she said again at the hall door. "Don't forget!" she added, as she waved her hand from the carriage window. Joles slammed the door shut and got on the box, and she was driven away.

The old man watched the carriage until it was out of sight, returning to his room in a dream. He could not realise or explain his feelings.

He had been happy, perfectly happy; that was all he knew. He had been at rest, contented, satisfied for a few brief moments, and that glimpse of heaven had put new, strange thoughts into his life--thoughts that made his blood pulsate. He recognised that life had taken on a new aspect; how or why he knew not. A strange young lady had called upon him, and had left a card; he was to see her again, and his whole life was changed. This was the only point that was clear to him, that his life had changed. How long he sat there, trying to think it out and understand, he knew not.

The old crack-faced clock, with one hand, that Miss Husted had put on the mantelpiece, struck the hour with its old cracked bell, and it startled him. He had heard it hundreds of times, but now its weird, metallic tone jarred on the harmony of his feelings. He counted the strokes; five, six, seven, eight. Eight o'clock! He started up, for his dream had come to an end, and he came back to earth again, back into the world of Houston Street, back to the Bowery, to Costello, to the Museum, to his nightly labour for his daily bread. Mechanically he changed his velvet jacket for his street dress, and hastily put on his cape coat and hat. "No, it's not a dream!" he told himself, as he read the card she had given him. "Miss Helene Stanton, Fifth Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street." He put the card carefully in his pocket-book and placing his violin case under his arm started to go out. Then remembering that the lamp was still burning, he went back and carefully turned it out.

"Fifth Avenue, and Fifty-seventh Street," he said to himself; "to-morrow at three, to-morrow at three."

He went into the street and the noise and bustle of the Bowery jarred upon his sensitive ear. "To-morrow at three," he joyfully sang to himself. "To-morrow at three!" But high above the din and rattle of traffic and street noises, high above Von Barwig's song, rang out Costello's voice as if to drown his happiness.

"Eat 'em alive," it said. "Eat 'em alive; eat 'em alive!" Von Barwig heard it; shuddered, and sang no more. "Eat 'em alive," he muttered mournfully to himself. "Eat 'em alive--eat 'em alive."

Chapter Fifteen

Von Barwig arose at daybreak, for a great hope had come to him. At last life held out a promise; of what he knew not. He only knew that he experienced a sensation of joy, and his great, loving heart throbbed in response. His cheerfulness communicated itself to his friends upstairs, for they came into his room and insisted on his accompanying them to breakfast at Galazatti's. They were all in high spirits.

Pinac and Fico were determined to let him see that the loss of their positions had not caused them any uneasiness.

"Bah! we get the engagement back again," laughed Fico.

Pinac snapped his fingers. "The _cafe_! Pouf, pouf, pouf!"

Poons grinned amiably. He had been warned by the others, notably by Pinac in very bad German, not to let Von Barwig see that they felt down in the mouth. He kept a smile on his face when he thought of it, and was exceedingly sorrowful when he didn't; so the expression on his face altered from time to time, much to Von Barwig's astonishment. Once, during breakfast, Pinac heard Poons sigh and kicked him under the table, whereupon he immediately grinned. Von Barwig saw this lightning change and wondered what was the matter.

"Are you in pain?" he asked.

"No," replied Poons, trying to smile, but only succeeding in grinning.

Then he laughed with real tears in his eyes.

"Are you laughing or crying?" asked Von Barwig. "If you are laughing, please cry; and if you are crying, for heaven's sake laugh."

Poons nodded. "I am very happy," he said tearfully, "so happy."

"Then you don't know how to show it," commented Von Barwig; whereupon they all laughed at him until he laughed too, in spite of himself.

They joked all through the breakfast. So noisy were they that they attracted the attention of Galazatti, the proprietor or the _cafe_, who came over to the four friends and shook hands with them. He had served them for many years, and he was glad to see them enjoy themselves.

"How is the good lady of your house?" he asked.

"Miss Husted is at the top of the notch," replied Pinac, who generally const.i.tuted himself spokesman for the party. "We are all top of the notch," he added, "eh, Poonsie?" slapping the young man on the back.

"What a strange thing is this human existence!" thought Von Barwig, as he left his friends and walked back to his studio alone. "Here I am in the middle of Houston Street, giving music instructions for fifty cents per lesson, playing out nights in a dime museum, and yet my heart, my mind is with this daughter of a great millionaire. To-day at three I shall be with her, and I can think of nothing else. What is she to me that I should care so much? A chance likeness, perhaps no likeness at all except that which exists in my brain! Am I mad? Is this world of shadows real? What does it all mean? Who will tear the veil from this mystery, and tell me why one human being is so much more to us than another, why one human being so resembles another, and yet is not that one?"

From time to time he looked at the clock wishing the time would pa.s.s more quickly. He brushed his clothes very carefully that morning. The frock coat he had worn for a dozen years now proved its claim to being made of the finest texture, for it responded splendidly to the brush, and gave up most of its spots; but it still retained its shine. When he had put on a clean collar and cuffs and his best white dress shirt, Von Barwig looked at himself in the gla.s.s.

"If only this shine on my coat were transferred to my boots, what a happy transformation!" thought Von Barwig. "Still, if that b.u.t.ton on my sleeve is transferred to my coat, it will restore the balance of harmony," so Jenny's services were called into requisition.

"Where are you going this morning?" she asked as she st.i.tched on the b.u.t.ton.