ut very
ordinary talent. His time was good, and dancers always found his playing
satisfactory.

When Paul Beck had completed his task, he looked about him complacently,
as if to say, "Let the boy beat that if he can," and sat down.

Philip had listened to Mr. Beck with attention. He was anxious to learn
how powerful a rival he had to compete with. What he heard did not alarm
him, but rather gave him confidence.

CHAPTER XXIII. AN HOUR OF TRIUMPH.

When Paul rose and stood before this audience, violin in hand, he
certainly presented quite a strong contrast to his rival.

Paul Beck, as we have already said, was a tall, thin, lantern-jawed man,
clad in solemn black, his face of a sickly, sallow hue.

Philip was of fair height, for his age, with a bright, expressive face,
his hair of a chestnut shade, and looking the very picture of boyish
health. His very appearance made a pleasant impression upon those
present.

"He's a nice-looking boy," thought more than one, "but he looks too
young to know much about the violin."

But when Philip began to play, there was general surprise. In a
dancing-tune there was not much chance for the exhibition of talent, but
his delicate touch and evident perfect mastery of his instrument were
immediately apparent. In comparison, the playing of Paul Beck seemed
wooden and mechanical.

There was a murmur of approbation, and when Philip had finished his
first part of the program, he was saluted by hearty applause, which he
acknowledged by a modest and graceful bow.

Paul Beck's face, as his young rival proceeded in his playing, was an
interesting study. He was very disagreeably surprised. He had made up
his mind that Philip could not play at all, or, at any rate, would prove
to be a mere tyro and bungler, and he could hardly believe his ears when
he heard the sounds which Philip evoked from his violin.

In spite of his self-conceit, he secretly acknowledged that Philip even
now was his superior, and in time would leave him so far behind that
there could be no comparison between them.

It was not a pleasant discovery for a man who had prided himself for
many years on his superiority as a musician. If it had been a man of
established fame it would have been different, but to be compelled to
yield the palm to an unknown boy, was certainly mortifying.

When he heard the applause that followed Philip's performance, and
remembered that none had been called forth by his own, he de