"David is a good boy--a very good boy,indeed,John.We think a great deal of him."John Holly laughed lightly,yet his brow carried a puzzled frown.
Two things John Holly had not been able thus far to understand:
an indefinable change in his father,and the position of the boy David,in the household--John Holly was still remembering his own repressed youth.
"Hm-m,"he murmured,softly picking the strings,then drawing across them a tentative bow."I've a fiddle at home that I play sometimes.Do you mind if I--tune her up?"A flicker of something that was very near to humor flashed from his father's eyes.
"Oh,no.We are used to that--now."And again John Holly remembered his youth.
"Jove!but he's got the dandy instrument here,"cried the player,dropping his bow after the first half-dozen superbly vibrant tones,and carrying the violin to the window.A moment later he gave an amazed ejaculation and turned on his father a dumfounded face.
"Great Scott,father!Where did that boy get this instrument?IKNOW something of violins,if I can't play them much;and this--!Where DID he get it?"
"Of his father,I suppose.He had it when he came here,anyway.""'Had it when he came'!But,father,you said he was a tramp,and--oh,come,tell me,what is the secret behind this?Here Icome home and find calmly reposing on my father's sitting-room table a violin that's priceless,for all I know.Anyhow,I do know that its value is reckoned in the thousands,not hundreds:and yet you,with equal calmness,tell me it's owned by this boy who,it's safe to say,doesn't know how to play sixteen notes on it correctly,to say nothing of appreciating those he does play;and who,by your own account,is nothing but--"A swiftly uplifted hand of warning stayed the words on his lips.He turned to see David himself in the doorway.
"Come in,David,"said Simeon Holly quietly."My son wants to hear you play.I don't think he has heard you."And again there flashed from Simeon Holly's eyes a something very much like humor.
With obvious hesitation John Holly relinquished the violin.From the expression on his face it was plain to be seen the sort of torture he deemed was before him.But,as if constrained to ask the question,he did say:--"Where did you get this violin,boy?"
"I don't know.We've always had it,ever since I could remember--this and the other one.""The OTHER one!"
"Father's."
"Oh!"He hesitated;then,a little severely,he observed:"This is a fine instrument,boy,--a very fine instrument.""Yes,"nodded David,with a cheerful smile."Father said it was.
I like it,too.This is an Amati,but the other is a Stradivarius.I don't know which I do like best,sometimes,only this is mine."With a half-smothered ejaculation John Holly fell back limply.
"Then you--do--know?"he challenged.
"Know--what?"
"The value of that violin in your hands."
There was no answer.The boy's eyes were questioning.
"The worth,I mean,--what it's worth."
"Why,no--yes--that is,it's worth everything--to me,"answered David,in a puzzled voice.
With an impatient gesture John Holly brushed this aside.
"But the other one--where is that?"
"At Joe Glaspell's.I gave it to him to play on,because he had n't any,and he liked to play so well.""You GAVE it to him--a Stradivarius!"
"I loaned it to him,"corrected David,in a troubled voice.
"Being father's,I couldn't bear to give it away.But Joe--Joe had to have something to play on.""'Something to play on'!Father,he doesn't mean the River Street Glaspells?"cried John Holly.
"I think he does.Joe is old Peleg Glaspell's grandson."John Holly threw up both his hands.
"A Stradivarius--to old Peleg's grandson!Oh,ye gods!"he muttered."Well,I'll be--"He did not finish his sentence.At another word from Simeon Holly,David had begun to play.
From his seat by the stove Simeon Holly watched his son's face--and smiled.He saw amazement,unbelief,and delight struggle for the mastery;but before the playing had ceased,he was summoned by Perry Larson to the kitchen on a matter of business.So it was into the kitchen that John Holly burst a little later,eyes and cheek aflame.
"Father,where in Heaven's name DID you get that boy?"he demanded."Who taught him to play like that?I've been trying to find out from him,but I'd defy Sherlock Holmes himself to make head or tail of the sort of lingo he talks,about mountain homes and the Orchestra of Life!Father,what DOES it mean?"Obediently Simeon Holly told the story then,more fully than he had told it before.He brought forward the letter,too,with its mysterious signature.
"Perhaps you can make it out,son,"he laughed."None of the rest of us can,though I haven't shown it to anybody now for a long time.I got discouraged long ago of anybody's ever making it out.""Make it out--make it out!"cried John Holly excitedly;"I should say I could!It's a name known the world over.It's the name of one of the greatest violinists that ever lived.""But how--what--how came he in my barn?"demanded Simeon Holly.
