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Show 212 1lttonc tban $bll~WI anbf'ltc l$llb 1Rose anb Stiller It was not necessary for her to cry, on account of one broken violin, for he had thousands of them-Stradivarius, Amati, Cremona; everything. Some of them were highly coloured and very rare on that account. He had only to go to his storehouse, present a ticket, and choose whatever he liked-red, green, yellow, or even striped. Everybody who played the violin needed a great many of them, for the different moods of music. It was obvious that the dark brown violin with which he played slow, sad music could not be used for the Hungarian Dances. He had a special violin for those, striped with barbaric colour. The woman who had broken one of his violins stood at the window with her back toward him. Her shoulders shook and from time to time she lifted the bit of white to her eyes. It was annoying, he thought; even worse than the shadows and the fire. He was about to call to. her and suggest, ironically, that she had cned enough and that the flowers would be spoiled if they got too wet, when someone called, from the next room: "Miss Rose! 11 She turned quickly, wiped her eyes once more, and, without making a sound, went out on the white cloud that surrounded her half way to her waist. He tried to change his position a little and felt his own bed under him. His body was "bo\\1 S!Je 1lllltll a:ome to .roe" 213 s~iff and sore, but he had the use of it, except hts left arm. Try as he might, he could not move it, for it was weighted down and it hurt terribly. "Miss Rose, Miss Rose, Miss Rose, Miss Rose." The words beat hard in his ears like a clock ticking loudly. The accent was on the "Miss"-the last word was much fainter. u Rose Miss" was wrong, so the other must be right, except for the misplaced accent. Did the accent always come on the first beat of a measure? He had forgotten, but he would ask the man at the storehouse when he went to get the striped violin for the Hungarian Dances. His left hand throbbed with unbearable agony. The room began to spin slowly on its axis. There was no mist now, or even a shadow, and every sense was abnormally acute. The objects in the whirling room were phenomenally clear; even a scratch on the front of his chiffonier stood out distinctly. He could hear a clock ticking, though there was no clock in his room. Afar was the sound of women sobbing-two of them. Above it a strange voice said, distinctly: ''There is not one chance in a thousand of saving his hand. If I had nurses, I would amputate now, before he recovers consciousness." The words struck him with the force of a blow, though he did not fully realise what they meant. The pain in his left arm and the sick- |
