Part 3 (2/2)
”She asked you to help him?”
”Yes. At least, she spoke about him, and asked me to keep my eyes open and to say a good word for him, when I can. What does he want, Mr.
Thayer?”
”Whatever he can get.”
”What does he need, then?”
”Everything.” Thayer's tone was grave.
”At least, that is comprehensive, Beatrix,” her cousin a.s.sured her. ”He may even be starved into eating your chloride of manna.”
She ignored the interruption.
”And you have known him for some time, Mr. Thayer?”
”Long enough to have no hesitation in vouching for him, both as a man and as an artist.” His tone was not unfriendly, yet it was of dignified finality.
”Then why the deuce hasn't the fellow arrived?” Bobby rose, as he spoke, and planted his feet accurately on the middle pothook of the hearthrug.
”Chiefly because art is long, and we are all too busy to wait for it to display itself. Give him time,” Sally suggested idly, for she was becoming a little bored by the discussion.
”Time is money, though. Perhaps a pension would do just as well.”
Thayer frowned involuntarily. To him, his art was too sacred to admit of any flippancy in discussing it. He turned still more directly to Beatrix.
”Arlt is a thoroughly good fellow, one you are safe in introducing anywhere. He is only a boy, barely twenty; but he is one of the most satisfactory pianists I have ever heard. I don't mean I haven't heard better ones; but never one who has been more satisfying to my mood, whatever it is. His technique is not perfect, and he lacks maturity; but he has a trick of making people dissatisfied with other pianists and anxious to hear him play the same programme.”
”And he will accompany?”
”Ye-es. Sometimes.”
Beatrix laughed.
”I spare your modesty, Mr. Thayer. I think I understand. But really I haven't much influence. If I can help him, though, you can count on my doing it.”
”All he needs is a little start. As Miss Van Osdel says, New York is moving too fast to wait for strangers to fall into step with the procession.”
”He is a stranger, then?”
”He came over with me.” Thayer hesitated. ”I may as well tell you a bit about him,” he went on. ”It can't do any harm, and it may supplement Miss Gannion's story. He is that unhappy being, the youngest son of a younger son, and he has more ancestors than money. His father ran away to escape army service, and forgot to provide for his wife and children.
The children died, all but two, Otto and a sister eight years older. He was half through his musical training, when she had a fall that crippled her, and the boy had to give up study and take to teaching. For two years, he fought a losing fight, giving lessons to stolid youngsters, playing at cheap concerts wherever he could get an engagement, and all the time slowly dropping deeper and deeper into debt. One night, he fainted in the middle of the accompaniment to _The Erl-King_, and it looked as if the King had claimed him. There were a couple of Americans in the hall who had been watching him for weeks, and they began to investigate the case. Arlt, it seems, hadn't eaten anything for two days; and, just as he had started for the concert, he had received legal notice that the next day his mother and sister would be turned into the street, because the rent was unpaid.”
”And then?” Sally queried, as Thayer came to a full stop.
”Then they took him out to supper,” he replied prosaically.
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