Vignettes of Manhattan; Outlines in Local ColorMatthews, Brander
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Vignettes of Manhattan; Outlines in Local Color
Matthews, Brander
Manhattan (New York, N.Y.) -- Fiction; Short stories, American
"Yes," was the authoritative answer, "she knows that I have always loved
you."
(1897.)
THE SOLO ORCHESTRA
The air was thick and heavy, as it sometimes is in the great city
towards nightfall after a hot spell has lasted for ten days. There were
sponges tied to the foreheads of the horses that wearily tugged at the
overladen cross-town cars. The shop-girls going home fanned themselves
limply. The men released from work walked languidly, often with their
coats over their arms. The setting sun burned fiery red as it sank
behind the hills on the other side of the Hudson. But the night seemed
likely to be as hot as the day had been, for the leaves on the trees
were motionless now, as they had been all the afternoon.
We had been kept in town all through July by the slow convalescence of
our invalid, and with even the coming of August we could not hope to get
away for another ten days yet. The excessive heat had retarded the
recovery of our patient by making it almost impossible for her to sleep.
That evening, as it happened, she had dropped off into an uneasy slumber
a little after six o'clock, and we had left her room gently in the
doubtful hope that her rest might be prolonged for at least an hour.
I had slipped down-stairs and was standing on the stoop, with the door
open behind me, when I heard the shrill notes of the Pan-pipes,
accompanied by the jingling of a set of bells and the dull thumping of a
drum. I understood at once that some sort of wandering musician was
about to perform, and I knew that with the first few bars the needful
slumber of our invalid would be interrupted violently.
I closed the door behind me softly and sprang down the steps, and sped
swiftly to the corner around which the sounds seemed to proceed. If the
fellow is a foreigner, I thought, I must give him a quarter and so bribe
him to go away, and then he will return every evening to be bought off
again, and I shall become a subscriber by the week to the concerts I do
not wish to hear. But if the itinerant musician is an American, of
course I can appeal to him, as one gentleman to another, and we shall
not be troubled with him again.
[Illustration: "THE AIR WAS THICK AND HEAVY"]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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