Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 154: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

320 THE ARGOSY. sharpen knives you can never be a great musician. Why,” he went on, gathering force and fury, “‘ so long as you do anything mechanical you can never be anything. Who are the masters of the world? The men who keep their hands clean and make others do the dirty work. The men who sit in their offices and do not even sign their checks, lest ink should soil their dainty hands. The artists, like I, who can play the world to its knees, with our clever, clean, clean hands. - My boy, you make me sad!” Moisture was gathering in the musi- cian’s eyes—to Rodney’s supreme aston- ishment. “Look at you!” he went on, looking himself at Rodney and discovering new things about him every second. ‘ You are young, perhaps twenty; you are tall; you have the good figure; you have the fine face—if it was clean; the thick hair, it waves, like mine. Why, you look the artist —you have the hands of the artist! Yet you are content to waste your life doing this dirty work!” The musician positively moaned as he finished. His last words stung Rodney to a quick response. “T am not contented,” he cried. “ I’ve tried to get away, but I can’t—I can’t.” However much the musician might have been playing to his audience of one, that cry of Rodney’s was so real that he re- sponded to it with his genuine artist’s soul. “ My boy he cried, ‘‘ you can. Do not wait for some one to show you the way. Leave this; come to the city; get a clean job, and then, when your hands are clean, come to me. Here is my card.” Rodney took it eagerly. 7 “The city is so hard,” he began. The musician waved away that objection. “Tt is easy—easy to one who is young and good-looking and talented—like you. ‘This is the hard place—this beautiful country. ‘This is where talents die early and un- natural deaths because of the waters of criticism and the fire of discouragement through which only the hardiest can ‘Pass, and which are native to the country.” The violinist fastened his case. “ This,” he’ said, indicating the lovely valley, “ is fine for dreams, so I come, sometimes, to dream. But for work, for success, for money—never! Go to the city! Don’t be discouraged. You have the hand of success —when it is clean.” He turned and walked to a small car Rodney had failed to observe before, and got in, smiling encouragement over his shoulder as he drove away. So not only was this great violinist able to wear fine new clothes and jeweled rings, but he owned the latest type of roadster. Like most country boys, Rodney knew the names and latest types of all cars. Rodney stood stock still in the road, watching the faint cloud of dust that fol- lowed in the musician’s wake. When that had entirely disappeared he glanced down savagely at his hands, then turned and looked with hatred at his grinder. Suddenly his jaws set, his feet broke into a run. Back he went over the road that he had come, leaving the detested wheel forever behind him. There was a tobacco-jar at home that contained some money—enough to buy a ticket from Hopewell Junction to the city, and to live on for a week or two, even if living in the city was as high as he had heard. There was even a cake of soap, long unused, lying near it. When Rodney had worn this down con- siderably he brushed his clothes, found an old hat, and set out for Hopewell Junction, without a thing but his pipe and the flaring ambition that the musician’s words had roused in him. Il. WueEN Rodney had finished gaping at the tall buildings, and had found out how to cross the streets without being rescued from sudden death by a policeman, he began to realize that he had no place to sleep that night. When he had found a place to sleep he realized that it was not at all like his little cabin on Twin Mountain. It was not lone- some—at least, the sounds of quick, nervous chatter, frequent laughter, were very grate- ful to his ears. He had never heard people talk and laugh like that before, and he | liked it. Gomichboo