Islands -- Fiction; Love stories; New England -- Fiction; Swindlers and swindling -- Fiction
But a surprise was awaiting him, for though half-scared Mona hesitated
and made a few slips, she played the piece through to the end without a
halt.
"Why, girlie," exclaimed Jess, "I'm proud o' ye. I didn't think ye cud
do so well. Now, perfessor, ye kin take her in hand; 'n' mind ye don't
let up on her till she's larned the hull biznes, fer fiddlin's goin' to
be her futur' perfession."
That night, when Fritz had once more escaped the crowded theatre and was
quaffing his foaming stein, could any native American translate the
rapid fire jargon with which he related his morning experience, he would
have heard a marvellous tale.
"Mein Gott in Himmel!" Fritz exclaimed, after the fourth glass had been
emptied, "but she blayed mit such feelin's und such eyes dot mit me made
such strangeness feels. Ach, but she vas a vonder!"
And as time passed on, each of the two days a week when Mona came to
take her lesson only served to increase that "vonder," for now that her
timidity had worn away, the genius that lurked in her fingers asserted
itself. In technical art she was as yet a pupil, but in the far more
impressive art of inspiration and expression, so natural to her, she had
naught to learn.
"She blays mit her heart und all ofer, und vorgets all I tells her of
bosition und oxecution," explained Fritz to his cronies, "und ven she
looks at me I forgets meinself."
Then as the weeks went by, a new idea came to Fritz, who seldom had any;
and straightway he began to nurse it.
"Ef she so blays mit mein violin, ven I haf heard dat music all mein
life, vot vill beoples dinks who vash to hear her on de stage?" he said
to himself. "I vill say nodding und make some surbrises by and by."
That Mona had the same secret ambition he knew not, and most likely it
were as well he did not. But the long upward path to her goal was not an
easy one, for if Fritz had lacked emotion, he excelled in detail; and
each time Mona forgot, as she so often did, it provoked expressions from
him that tinged her cheeks with humiliation.
"I have much to learn," she answered almost pitifully, whenever her
uncle asked of her progress, "and so much to unlearn, it seems
discouraging."
"It'll come easier bimeby, girlie," he would respond cheerfully, "the
fust lesson in anything is allus the hardest."
But the vexations of tuition were only a small part of Mona's burden;
for as the weeks went by, and she became accustomed to her new life and
surroundings, the old heartache returned, and as her uncle often
insisted that she and her mother go out to some evening entertainment as
a break in the quiet boarding-house life they led, a new fear assailed
her. What if on street car or in theatre lobby she should suddenly meet
Winn Hardy! His name had not been mentioned for many months, and it was
as if he were dead.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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