Although most Berliners were automatically anti-Polish, Paderewski made some good friends among German musicians. His warmest affection was for the great composer, Richard Strauss, whose family accepted the young foreigner as a member from his first appearance in the house. Of all his kindnesses to Paderewski, the greatest favor Strauss ever did for him was a completely unconscious one. Paderewski knew that he had the habit of making faces while he played the piano. The more complex the music, the more tortured the grimaces that distorted his handsome face. He had never given the failing much thought, however, until he realized that Strauss had the same bad habit. As he watched the great man play—his face almost as busy as his hands—Paderewski thought, “Good Heavens! That is how I look!” He determined to reform at all costs and did so, but only after months of practicing with a mirror propped up on the music rack of the piano. Although he did not forget his promise to Antonina to continue his studies, he worried more and more about earning money for his little son. The music he published brought him a great deal of praise but little money. But he soon found a way to increase his earnings. He was in great demand as an accompanist for violinists and singers, since he could sight read music so brilliantly that the performers who hired him did not have to spend much time or money on rehearsals. One of his closest friends was a violinist named Gorski. He had arranged a short tour of resort hotels, and he asked Paderewski to come with him. The pianist smiled to himself, remembering an earlier tour he had once made. But since this one was on a much sounder financial footing, he gladly agreed to go. There was a marked resemblance, however, in the matter of pianos! At the very first hotel where they were booked, the piano proved to be of such ancient stock that half the hammers had resigned from active duty. When he struck the keys attached to the afflicted hammer they would fly up, but once up they would not return to place. This meant that each note with a bad hammer could only be used once during the evening. “I can probably play your accompaniments by faking!” he said to Gorski, “but I can’t possibly get through my solos!” “What can we do? It’s the only piano in town.” One of Gorski’s young pupils was making the tour with them. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, stepping up timidly. “I think I can help you.” “Impossible!” Paderewski said gruffly. “Suppose I stand by the piano and push the hammers down just as fast as you hit them. I don’t think the audience would notice, do you?”