uses, and the streets.
I suppose a new city means nothing to him but another platform, another
audience, another piano, all intended as a background for his violin. He
could travel all over the world and it wouldn't touch him once. He's got
his mental fingers crossed all the time."

Theodore had begun to play in concert with some success, but he wrote
that there was no real money in it yet. He was not well enough known. It
took time. He would have to get a name in Europe before he could attempt
an American tour. Just now every one was mad over Greinert. He was
drawing immense audiences. He sent them a photograph at which they
gasped, and then laughed, surprisedly. He looked so awfully German, so
different, somehow.

"It's the way his hair is clipped, I suppose," said Fanny. "High, like
that, on the temples. And look at his clothes! That tie! And his pants!
And that awful collar! Why, his very features look German, don't they? I
suppose it's the effect of that haberdashery."

A month after the photograph, came a letter announcing his marriage.
Fanny's quick eye, leaping ahead from line to line, took in the facts
that her mind seemed unable to grasp. Her name was Olga Stumpf. (In the
midst of her horror some imp in Fanny's brain said that her hands would
be red, and thick, with a name like that.) An orphan. She sang. One of
the Vienna concert halls, but so different from the other girls. And he
was so happy. And he hated to ask them for it, but if they could cable a
hundred or so. That would help. And here was her picture.

And there was her picture. One of the so-called vivacious type of
Viennese of the lower class, smiling a conscious smile, her hair
elaborately waved and dressed, her figure high-busted, narrow-waisted;
earrings, chains, bracelets. You knew that she used a heavy scent. She
was older than Theodore. Or perhaps it was the earrings.

They cabled the hundred.

After the first shock of it Molly Brandeis found excuses for him. "He
must have been awfully lonely, Fanny. Often. And perhaps it will steady
him, and make him more ambitious. He'll probably work all the harder
now."

"No, he won't. But you will. And I will. I didn't mind working for
Theodore, and scrimping, and never having any of the things I wanted,
from blouses to music. But I won't work and deny myself to keep a great,
thick, cheap, German barmaid, or whatever she is in comfort. I won't!"

But she did. And quite suddenly Molly Brandeis, o