had known that he lacked the training which should
enable him to develop them properly, and, with rare self-denial, rather
than spoil them he had turned his back upon them and tried to forget
them. Now, however, his work was beginning to tell upon him, and his
teacher was more and more encouraging, while the old themes came back to
him, grown and enriched by their season of lying fallow. Spurred on by
the consciousness of all this, Arlt was hard at work upon an overture
with which he hoped to greet Thayer on his return to the city. Day by
day, the overture was growing. It was boyish; yet it was dignified and
original.

On the last morning of his trip, Thayer came down the steps of his
hotel, halted to stare about him at the streets of the leisurely little
city, and then sauntered away towards the hall where the rehearsal was
to take place. It was still early; nevertheless, as he came within sight
of the building, he found the street filled with the members of the
orchestra who, thriftily refusing cabs, had marched up from the station
in a solid phalanx, laden with all manner of strange-looking bags and
cases. Thayer nodded to them with a certain eagerness. After two months
of wandering, it was good to find himself once more within the New York
radius. He had sung with these men often; they knew every trick of his
voice, and he could count upon them not to break into a galloping rhythm
in the midst of a minor _andante_. His face lighted, and his tongue fell
into his beloved German idioms, as he went up the stairs with a bass
viol and a bassoon on either hand.

The director of the chorus was also a New York man, and Thayer shook
hands with him cordially, wondering, meanwhile, how it chanced that one
short year had made him feel that New York was home to him. The director
knew Arlt's teacher, too. He had heard of the young German's promise,
and it was with some regret that Thayer heard him break off from these
congenial themes, for the sake of introducing him to the officers of the
society who were unduly agitated by the consciousness that they had
captured both Thayer and the latest English tenor who had landed only
the week before and was to make his American debut, that evening.

Meanwhile, the hall was filling fast. The chorus, chattering with the
nervous vivacity which always heralds a concert, were crowding into the
fraction of space allotted to them; and, in the open floor beyond, the
musicians of the orchestra w