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Updated: June 5, 2025
"What should there be?" "Nothing should be. I asked if anything is." "Mr. Dane would hardly discuss his friends with me." Arlt's tone was noncommittal. "Now, see here, Arlt, don't get obstinate. We both know Lorimer's failing. Have you heard anything new about him?" Arlt stared hard at the carpet. "Mr. Lorimer was very good to the mother and Katarina," he said, in his slow, deliberate English.
Something in the simple overture had caught the fancy of the orchestra, and they had played it with an enthusiasm, had interpreted it with a dainty accuracy to Arlt's own mood which would have won prompt recognition for a work of far less merit.
"I was dining with a friend, and we took things lazily." "And now you expect to sing?" Arlt's accent was rebuking. "Yes. I walked down here to get myself into condition. How is it? Are you feeling nervous over the prospect?" Arlt had seated himself at the grand piano which completely filled one end of the dreary room. Now he drew a protesting arpeggio from the black keys and shook his head.
The forgetting was a little too intentional to be entirely complete. He met them rarely. Society had not yet organized its winter campaign, and it was still possible for a man to go his own individual way. Just now, Thayer's own individual way led him almost daily in the direction of Washington Square. He was in Arlt's room, one evening, less than a week before the concert.
"But gods don't usually marry," Thayer suggested whimsically, as he took up his coat. However, Arlt was ready for him. "Zeus did, and Homer tells us how he quarrelled with his wife." "Lorimer never will quarrel; he is too easy-going. By the way, you met Miss Dane at the Stanley recital. Do you remember her?" Arlt's lips straightened thoughtfully.
Dismissing four or five importunate cab drivers with a brief shake of his head, Thayer went striding away up the Avenue towards Miss Gannion's house. As he went, he was half-consciously applying Arlt's words to the question of his own future. It was true enough that he must work out his own real purpose for himself; and, in one sense the unsuccessful boy was happier by far than the successful man.
Miss Gannion had told Thayer what he already half suspected, that Beatrix was really giving this supper in Arlt's honor and that it was to be the first large affair of the season, in the hope of focussing public attention upon the boy at the very moment of his having proved his real genius as composer.
You fellows are going ahead at such a rate that I can't keep track of you, unless I have an engagement book for your especial benefit." "Bobby!" Sally expostulated. "Mr. Arlt's suite is to be played, Saturday, and Mr. Thayer is to be the soloist for the concert. You oughtn't to have forgotten that, especially when you asked me to go with you." "Oh, yes; I do remember now," Bobby replied serenely.
The critics applauded; but society applied its lorgnette to its eye and discovered that, in his excitement, Arlt had neglected to make sure that his tie was mathematically straight. The patter died away into silence. Then the wind veered again and the storm broke out afresh, mingled with cries of Thayer's name. Arlt's lips worked nervously, as he joined Thayer in the wings.
"It was Arlt's snubbing," Lorimer returned, as he rose. "It was a beastly thing to do. Arlt played superbly, and they might have treated him with common courtesy. But there is no accounting for tastes. Thayer is the hero of the evening, and people are too busy applauding him, to have any time for lesser lights." "Do you think Mr.
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