It seemed obvious to Ignace’s father that his son was clearly headed for a career in music. The boy played the piano constantly, although he much preferred to improvise his own melodies rather than practice anyone else’s. The music notebook that his proud father had given him was already half filled with random compositions. But how, Jan Paderewski wondered, could the poor boy possibly get the musical training he needed in Sudylkow? When word came to town that a railroad was soon to be built, connecting Sudylkow with Warsaw, the father took it as a sign from heaven. In Warsaw there was a famous conservatory of music. Jan Paderewski swore that his boy would have a chance to study there, no matter how much penny-pinching would have to be done at home in order to finance the venture. In 1872, when Ignace was twelve years old, he and his father set out on the very first train that ran to Warsaw. [Illustration: _Ignace and Antonina were very close._] It was an exciting and a somewhat frightening adventure. The Warsaw Conservatory did not have dormitories and supervised living for its students, as a modern school would have. The twelve-year-old country boy would be more or less on his own in the big city. Added to this worry was Mr. Paderewski’s concern over the fact that his son had had so little formal training in music. Would the entrance exams at the Conservatory be too much for him? As they were ushered into the office of Director Kontski, the father was more unnerved than the boy. The director looked at Ignace’s musical composition book and then he looked squarely at Ignace. The boy returned his gaze without a blink. Kontski turned to the anxious father and said cordially, “We’ll take this boy immediately—and without any examinations.” The first hurdle had been taken easily. Their unexpected luck at the Conservatory had improved Mr. Paderewski’s spirits. “Now,” he said to Ignace, “all our worries are over! First we buy you a piano! Then we find you a place to live!” A few hours later his optimism was again on the decline. Although father and son had inspected nearly every piano in Warsaw, they had seen nothing that was not far too expensive. The last address on their list was that of the Kerntopf factory, the most famous piano manufacturers in Poland. A wasted effort, this one, the elder Paderewski thought gloomily, as he trudged up the stairs to the showroom. If he had not been able to meet the price of lesser piano makers, how could he afford a Kerntopf piano? Mr. Kerntopf himself greeted the two weary customers. Yes, he told the father, several used pianos were available but they were rather expensive. At the price Mr. Paderewski had mentioned? Well, there was only the old upright over in the corner. The boy was welcome to try it out if he cared to. Ignace rushed over to the piano and began to play. It wasn’t much of a piano, perhaps, but as long as he had something—anything—to practice on, he would be happy.