The Fifth String Part 6

"Briefly as possible, I am much exercised about my daughter."

The old man moved up a chair and buried himself in it. Pressing his elbows tightly against his sides, he drew his neck in, and with the tips of his right hand fingers consorted and coquetted with their like on the opposite hand; then he simply asked, "Who is the man?"

"He is the violinist who has created such a sensation here, Angelo Diotti."

"Yes, I've seen the name in print," returned the old man.

"He has bewitched Mildred. I never have seen her show the least interest in a man before. She never has appeared to me as an impressionable girl or one that could easily be won."

"That is very true," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Sanders; "she always seemed tractable and open to reason in all questions of love and courting. I can recall several instances where I have set her right by my estimation of men, and invariably she has accepted my views."

"And mine until now," said the father, and then he recounted his experience of the night before. "I had hoped she would not fall in love, but be a prop and comfort to me now that I am alone. I am dismayed at the prospect before me."

Then the old man mused: "In the chrysalis state of girlhood, a parent arranges all the details of his daughter's future; when and whom she shall marry. 'I shall not allow her to fall in love until she is twenty-three,' says the fond parent. 'I shall not allow her to marry until she is twenty-six,' says the fond parent. 'The man she marries will be the one I approve of, and then she will live happy ever after,' concludes the fond parent."

Deluded parent! false prophet! The anarchist, Love, steps in and disdains all laws, rules and regulations. When finally the father confronts the defying daughter, she calmly says, "Well, what are you going to do about it?" And then tears, forgiveness, complete capitulation, and, sometimes, she and her husband live happily ever afterwards.

"We must find some means to end this attachment. A union between a musician and my daughter would be most mortifying to me. Some plan must be devised to separate them, but she must not know of it, for she is impatient of restraint and will not brook opposition."

"Are you confident she really loves this violinist?"

"She confessed as much to me," said the perturbed banker.

Old Sanders tapped with both hands on his s.h.i.+ning cranium and asked, "Are you confident he loves her?"

"No. Even if he does not, he no doubt makes the pretense, and she believes him. A man who fiddles for money is not likely to ignore an opportunity to angle for the same commodity," and the banker, with a look of scorn on his face, threw himself back into the chair.

"Does she know that you do not approve of this man?"

"I told her that I desired the musician's visits to cease."

"And her answer?"

"She said she would obey me if I could name one reasonable objection to the man, and then, with an air of absolute confidence in the impossibility of such a contingency, added, 'But you can not.'"

"Yes, but you must," said Sanders. "Mildred is strangely const.i.tuted.

If she loves this man, her love can be more deadly to the choice of her heart than her hate to one she abhors. The impatience of restraint you speak of and her very inability to brook opposition can be turned to good account now." And old Sanders again tapped in the rhythm of a dirge on his parchment-bound cranium.

"Your plan?" eagerly asked the father, whose confidence in his secretary was absolute.

"I would like to study them together. Your position will be stronger with Mildred if you show no open opposition to the man or his aspirations; bring us together at your house some evening, and if I can not enter a wedge of discontent, then they are not as others."

Mildred was delighted when her father told her on his return in the evening that he was anxious to meet Signor Diotti, and suggested a dinner party within a few days. He said he would invite Mr. Sanders, as that gentleman, no doubt, would consider it a great privilege to meet the famous musician. Mildred immediately sent an invitation to Diotti, adding a request that he bring his violin and play for Uncle Sanders, as the latter had found it impossible to attend his concerts during the season, yet was fond of music, especially violin music.

X

The little dinner party pa.s.sed off pleasantly, and as old Sanders lighted his cigar he confided to Diotti, with a braggart's a.s.surance, that when he was a youngster he was the best fiddler for twenty miles around. "I tell you there is nothing like a fiddler to catch a petticoat," he said, with a sharp nudge of his elbow into Diotti's ribs. "When I played the Devil's Dream there wasn't a girl in the country could keep from dancing, and 'Rosalie, the Prairie Flower,'

brought them on their knees to me every time;" then after a pause, "I don't believe people fiddle as well nowadays as they did in the good old times," and he actually sighed in remembrance.

Mildred smiled and whispered to Diotti. He took his violin from the case and began playing. It seemed to her as if from above showers of silvery merriment were falling to earth. The old man watched intently, and as the player changed from joy to pity, from love back to happiness, Sanders never withdrew his gaze. His bead-like eyes followed the artist; he saw each individual finger rise and fall, and the bow bound over the finger-board, always avoiding, never coming in contact with the middle string. Suddenly the old man beat a tattoo on his cranium and closed his eyes, apparently deep in thought.

As Diotti ceased playing, Sanders applauded vociferously, and moving toward the violinist, said: "Magnificent! I never have heard better playing! What is the make of your violin?"

Diotti, startled at this question, hurriedly put the instrument in its case; "Oh, it is a famous make," he drawled.

"Will you let me examine it?" said the elder, placing his hand on the case.

"I never allow any one to touch my violin," replied Diotti, closing the cover quickly.

"Why; is there a magic charm about it, that you fear other hands may discover?" queried the old man.

"I prefer that no one handle it," said the _virtuoso_ commandingly.

"Very well," sighed the old man resignedly, "there are violins and violins, and no doubt yours comes within that category," this half sneeringly.

"Uncle," interposed Mildred tactfully, "you must not be so persistent.

Signor Diotti prizes his violin highly and will not allow any one to play upon it but himself," and the look of relief on Diotti's face amply repaid her.

Mr. Wallace came in at that moment, and with perfunctory interest in his guest, invited him to examine the splendid collection of revolutionary relics in his study.

"I value them highly," said the banker, "both for patriotic and ancestral reasons. The Wallaces fought and died for their country, and helped to make this land what it is."

The father and the violinist went to the study, leaving the daughter and old Sanders in the drawing-room. The old man, seating himself in a large armchair, said: "Mildred, my dear, I do not wonder at the enormous success of this Diotti."

"He is a wonderful artist," replied Mildred; "critics and public alike place him among the greatest of his profession."

"He is a good-looking young fellow, too," said the old man.

"I think he is the handsomest man I ever have seen," replied the girl.

"Where does he come from?" continued Sanders.

"St. Casciano, a small town in Tuscany."

"Has he a family?"

"Only a sister, whom he loves dearly," good-naturedly answered the girl.

"And no one else?" continued the seemingly garrulous old man.

"None that I have heard him speak of. No, certainly not," rather impetuously replied Mildred.