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Hewitt bent it across his knee and laid it on the table. "Yes," Dixon answered, "that is Ritter's stick. I think I have often seen it in the stand. But what in the world " "One moment; I'll just fetch the stick Mirsky left behind." And Hewitt stepped across the corridor. He returned with another stick, apparently an exact fac-simile of the other, and placed it by the side of the other.
Ritter's voice lowered suddenly to a whisper, and he leaned forward, touching the other's hand with his own: "I tell you, Velasco, and I know what I say you played to-day at rehearsal as none of them played, not even Sarasati, king of virtuosi; or Joachim, prince of artists. You played as if the violin were yourself, and your bow were tearing your own heart strings. . . . Don't move! Don't get up!
Though the three were countrymen, Franck's appearance like Willy, he was wearing evening dress added a touch of embarrassment where there had been perfect unconstraint; and though Willy had lent Frederick a suit, and a tailor had already been ordered, Frederick expressed regret at not being appropriately dressed. "Yes, Ritter's a great stickler for form," Willy observed.
Thus I spent the winter, calm and resigned in my productive moments, but moody and irritable towards the outside world, and consequently a source of some anxiety to my friends. I was glad, however, when Karl Ritter's arrival in Zurich allowed him to become more intimate with me again.
Ritter's overtures had been traced to pacific elements in the United States, represented by William J. Bryan, who was said to have been in league with the ex-ambassador, Count von Bernstorff, and the Washington correspondent of a Cologne newspaper, in a plan to avert hostilities.
For this any ordinary youth would have been grateful, but gratitude did not appear to be a part of Reff Ritter's make-up, and he soon showed himself to be as mean as ever. For some time matters ran along smoothly at Putnam Hall, but then came trouble of an entirely new kind.
"That view of the Hudson is very pretty but I think the print of the gulls suits me better. Yes, that's the one I will take." Mrs. Carey chose a landscape. Shirley called it "At Dawn." "This scene is right around here, isn't it?" she asked. "Yes, it's right down there by Ritter's pond." "I love it!" exclaimed the woman. "You've made it prettier than the real scene."
Ritter's looks alone, and still more, a certain abrupt contradictoriness in his way of speaking, seemed to put Liszt into a state in which he was easily irritated. One evening Liszt was speaking in an impressive tone of the merits of the Jesuits, and Ritter's inopportune smiles appeared to offend him.
"Who said I met any one?" "We saw you, I and Major Ruddy and Pep Ditmore." "Huh! Been spying on me, eh?" And Reff Ritter's face took on its old look of sourness. "It was an accident. But I want to know who that man was." "What for?" "I have my reasons." "I don't see that I am called on to answer your questions, Andy Snow. If I want to meet anybody I'll do it."
And Ritter's, too, was very amusing and foreign and discreet; a little rambling room with a number of small tables, with red electric light shades and flowers. It was an overcast day, albeit not foggy, and the electric light shades glowed warmly, and an Italian waiter with insufficient English took Ramage's orders, and waited with an appearance of affection.
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