the fifth string-第8部分

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mumble…peg；　you　agree　with　him；　only

you　substitute　‘‘skittles''　for　‘‘mumble…

peg。''



Old　Sanders'　fad　was　mixing　toddies

and　punches。



‘‘The　nectar　of　the　gods　pales　into

nothingness　when　compared　with　a　toddy

such　as　I　make；''　said　he。　‘‘Ambrosia

may　have　been　all　right　for　the

degenerates　of　the　old　Grecian　and

Roman　days；　but　an　American　gentleman

demands　a　toddya　hot　toddy。''　And

then　he　proceeded　with　circumspection

and　dignity　to　demonstrate　the　process

of　decocting　that　mysterious　beverage。



The　two　men　took　off　their　overcoats

and　went　into　the　sitting…room。　A　pile

of　logs　burned　brightly　in　the　fire…place。

The　old　man　threw　another　on　the　burning

heap；　filled　the　kettle　with　water　and

hung　it　over　the　fire。　Next　he　went　to

the　sideboard　and　brought　forth　the

various　ingredients　for　the　toddy。



‘‘How　do　you　like　America？''　said

the　elder；　with　commonplace　indifference；

as　he　crunched　a　lump　of　sugar　in

the　bottom　of　the　glass；　dissolving　the

particles　with　a　few　drops　of　water。



‘‘Very　much；　indeed；''　said　the

Tuscan；　with　the　air　of　a　man　who　had

answered　the　question　before。



‘‘Great　country　for　girls！''　said

Sanders；　pouring　a　liberal　quantity　of　Old

Tom　gin　in　the　glass　and　placing　it

where　it　gradually　would　get　warm。



‘‘And　for　men！''　responded　Diotti；

enthusiastically。



‘‘Men　don't　amount　to　much　here；

women　run　everything；''　retorted　the

elder；　while　he　repeated　the　process　of

preparing　the　sugar　and　gin　in　the　second

glass。　The　kettle　began　to　sing。



‘‘That's　music　for　you；''　chuckled　the

old　man；　raising　the　lid　to　see　if　the

water　had　boiled　sufficiently。　‘‘Do　you

know　I　think　a　dinner　horn　and　a　singing

kettle　beat　a　symphony　all　hollow

for　real　down…right　melody；''　and　he

lifted　the　kettle　from　the　fire…place。



Diotti　smiled。



With　mathematical　accuracy　the　old　man

filled　the　two　tumblers　with　boiling　water。



‘‘Try　that；''　handing　a　glass　of　the

toddy　to　Diotti；　‘‘you　will　find　it　all

right；''　and　the　old　man　drew　an　arm…

chair　toward　the　fire…place；　smacking　his

lips　in　anticipation。



The　violinist　placed　his　chair　closer　to

the　fire　and　sipped　the　drink。



‘‘Your　country　is　noted　for　its　beautiful　women？''



‘‘We　have　exquisite　types　of　femininity

in　Tuscany；''　said　the　young　man；

with　patriotic　ardor。



‘‘Any　as　fine　looking　asasaswell；

say　the　young　lady　we　dined　with　to…night？''



‘‘Miss　Wallace？''　queried　the　Tuscan。



‘‘Yes；　Miss　Wallace；''　this　rather　impatiently。



‘‘She　is　very　beautiful；''　said　Diotti；

with　solemn　admiration。



‘‘Have　you　ever　seen　any　one　prettier？''

questioned　the　old　man；　after　a

second　prolonged　sip。



‘‘I　have　no　desire　to　see　any　one

more　beautiful；''　said　the　violinist；　feeling

that　the　other　was　trying　to　draw

him　out；　and　determined　not　to　yield。



‘‘You　will　pardon　the　inquisitiveness

of　an　old　man；　but　are　not　you　musicians

a　most　impressionable　lot？''



‘‘We　are　human；''　answered　the　violinist。



‘‘I　imagined　you　were　like　sailors　and

had　a　sweetheart　in　every　port。''



‘‘That　would　be　a　delightful　prospect

to　one　having　polygamous　aspirations；

but　for　myself；　one　sweetheart　is　enough；''

laughingly　said　the　musician。



‘‘Only　one！　Well；　here's　to　her！

With　this　nectar　fit　for　the　gods　and

goddesses　of　Olympus；　let　us　drink　to　her；''

said　old　Sanders；　with　convivial　dignity；

his　glass　raised　on　high。　‘‘Here's　wishing

health　and　happiness　to　the　dreamy…

eyed　Tuscan　beauty；　whom　you　love　and

who　loves　you。''



‘‘Stop！''　said　Diotti；　‘‘we　will　drink

to　the　first　part　of　that　toast；''　and　holding

his　glass　against　that　of　his　bibulous

host；　continued：　‘‘To　the　dreamy…eyed

women　of　my　country；　exacting　of

their　lovers；　obedient　to　their　parents

and　loyal　to　their　husbands；''　and　his

voice　rose　in　sonorous　rhythm　with　the

words。



‘‘Now　for　the　rest　of　the　toast；　to　the

one　you　love　and　who　loves　you；''　came

from　Sanders。



‘‘To　the　one　I　love　and　who　loves　me；

God　bless　her！''　fervently　cried　the　guest。



‘‘Is　she　a　Tuscan？''　asked　old　Sanders　slyly。



‘‘She　is　an　angel！''　impetuously　answered

the　violinist。



‘‘Then　she　is　an　American！''　said　the

old　man　gallantly。



‘‘She　is　an　American；''　repeated

Diotti；　forgetting　himself　for　the　instant。



‘‘Let　me　see　if　I　can　guess　her

name；''　said　old　Sanders。　‘‘It'sit's

Mildred　Wallace！''　and　his　manner

suggested　a　child　solving　a　riddle。



The　violinist；　about　to　speak；　checked

himself　and　remained　silent。



‘‘I　sincerely　pity　Mildred　if　ever　she

falls　in　love；''　abstractedly　continued

the　host　while　filling　another　glass。



‘‘Pray　why？''　was　anxiously　asked。




The　old　man　shifted　his　position　and

assumed　a　confidential　tone　and　attitude：

‘‘Signor　Diotti；　jealousy　is　a　more

universal　passion　than　love　itself。

Environment　may　develop　our　character；

influence　our　tastes　and　even　soften　our

features；　but　heredity　determines　the

intensity　of　the　two　leading　passions；　love

and　jealousy。　Mildred's　mother　was　a

beautiful　woman；　but　consumed　with　an

overpowering　jealousy　of　her　husband。

It　was　because　she　loved　him。　The

body…guard　of　jealousyenvy；　malice

and　hatredwere　not　in　her　composition。

When　Mildred　was　a　child　of

twelve　I　have　seen　her　mother　suffer

the　keenest　anguish　because　Mr。　Wallace

fondled　the　child。　She　thought　the

child　had　robbed　her　of　her　husband's

love。''



‘‘Such　a　woman　as　Miss　Wallace

would　command　the　entire　love　and

admiration　of　her　husband　at　all　times；''

said　the　artist。



‘‘If　she　should　marry　a　man　she

simply　likes；　her　chances　for　happiness

would　be　normal。''



‘‘In　what　manner？''　asked　the　lover。



‘‘Because　she　would　be　little

concerned　about　him　or　his　actions。''



‘‘Then　you　believe；''　said　the

musician；　‘‘that　the　man　who　loves　her　and

whom　she　loves　should　give　her　up

because　her　chances　of　happiness　would　be

greater　away　from　him　than　with　him？''



‘‘That　would　be　an　unselfish　love；''

said　the　elder。



‘‘Suppose　they　have　declared　their

passion？''　asked　Diotti。



‘‘A　parting　before　doubt　and　jealousy

had　entered　her　mind　would　let　the　image

of　her　sacrificing　lover　live　within

her　soul　as　a　tender　and　lasting　memory；

he　always　would　be　her　ideal；''　and　the

accent　old　Sanders　placed　on　ALWAYS　left

no　doubt　of　his　belief。



‘‘Why　should　doubt　and　jealousy　enter

her　life？''　said　the　violinist；　falling

into　the　personal　character　of　the　discussion

despite　himself。



‘‘My　dear　sir；　from　what　I　observed

to…night；　she　loves　you。　You　are　a　dan…

gerous　man　for　a　jealous　woman　to　love。

You　are　not　a　cloistered　monk；　you　are

a　man　before　the　public；　you　win　the

admiration　of　many；　some　women　do　not

hesitate　to　show　you　their　preference。　To

a　woman　like　Mildred　that　would　be　torture；

she　could　not　and　would　not　separate

the　professional　artist　from　the　lover

or　husband。''



And　Diotti；　remembering　Mildred's

words；　could　not　refute　the　old　man's

statements。



‘‘If　you　had　known　her　mother　as　I

did；''　continued　the　old　man；　realizing

his　argument　was　making　an　impression

on　the　violinist；　‘‘you　would　see　the

agony　in　store　for　the　daughter　if　she

married　a　man　such　as　you；　a　public　servant；

a　public　favorite。''



‘‘I　would　live　my　life　not　to　excite　her

suspicions　or　jealousy；''　said　the　artist；

with　boyish　enthusiasm　and　simplicity。



‘‘Foolish　fellow；''　retorted　Sanders；

skeptically；　‘‘women　imagine；　they　don't

reason。　A　scented　note　unopened　on

the　dressing　table　can　cause　more

unhappiness　to　your　wife　than　the　loss　of

his　country　to　a　king。　My　advice　to　you

is：　do　not　marry；　but　if　you　must；　choose

one　who　is　more　interested　in　your

gastronomic　felicity　than　in　your　marital

constancy。''



Diotti　was　silent。　He　was　pondering

the　words　of　his　host。　Instead　of　seeing

in　Mildred　a　possibly　jealous　woman；

causing　mental　misery；　she　appeared　a

vision　of　single…hearted　devotion。　He

felt：　‘‘To　be　loved　by　such　a　one　is

bliss　beyond　the　dreams　of　this　world。''







XII



A　tipsy　man　is　never　interesting；

and　Sanders　in　that　condition

was　no　exception。　The　old　man　arose

with　some　effort；　walked　toward　the

window　and；　shading　his　eyes；　looked

out。　The　snow　was　drifting；　swept

hither　and　thither　by　the　cutting　wind

that　came　through　the　streets　in　great

gusts。　Turning　to　the　violinist；　he　said；

‘‘It's　an　awful　night；　better　remain　here

until　morning。　You'll　not　find　a　cab；　in

fact；　I　will　not　let　you　go　while　this

storm　continues；''　and　the　old　man

raised　the　window；　thrusting　his　head

out　for　an　instant。　As　he　did　so　the　icy

blast　that　came　in　settled　any　doubt　in

the　young　man's　mind　and　he　concluded

to　stop　over　night。



It　was　nearly　two　o'clock；　Sanders

showed　him　to　his　room　and　then

returned　down　stairs　to　see　that　everything

was　snug　and　secure。　After　changing

his　heavy　shoes　for　a　pair　of　old　slippers

and　wrapping　a　dressing　gown　around

him；　the　old　man　stretched　his　legs

toward　the　fire　and　sipped　his　toddy。



‘‘He　isn't　a　bad　sort　for　a　violinist；''

mused　the　old　man；　‘‘if　he　were　worth

a　million；　I　believe　I'd　advise　Wallace　to

let　him　marry　her。　A　fiddler！　A　million！

Sounds　funny；''　and　he　laughed

shrilly。



He　turned　his　head　and　his　eyes

caught　sight　of　Diotti's　violin　case　resting

on　the　center　table。　He　staggered

from　the　chair　and　went　toward　it；　opening

the　lid　softly；　he　lifted　the　silken

coverlet　placed　over　the　instrument　and

examined　the　strings　intently。　‘‘I　am

right；''　he　said；　‘‘it　is　wrapped　with

hair；　and　no　doubt　from　a　woman's　head。

Eureka！''　and　the　old　man；　happy　in　the

discovery　that　his　surmises　were　cor