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Updated: June 5, 2025
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.
The Dvorák dance had not deepened Sally's color; the Damrosch song had not caused her to draw her white ostrich boa more closely about her throat. Thayer struck a vigorous major chord or two; then, with a sudden memory of the dry glitter in Arlt's eyes, he modulated thoughtfully.
Arlt had genius; but he lacked both influence and initiative. The fight would be a long one, and Arlt's conquest would be at the expense of many a wound. Teutons are not necessarily pachyderms, and Arlt was sensitive to a rare degree. As Arlt's fingers dropped from the keys at the close of Valentine's song of farewell, Thayer laughed suddenly.
"It was you they wanted, after all," he said, with a pitiful attempt at a smile. "Then they are damned fools," Thayer replied savagely; but his hand was gentle, as he rested it on Arlt's shoulder. The boy braced himself at the touch. "We must go back," he said. Thayer hesitated, while his thoughts worked swiftly.
This is your success; not mine." Arlt demurred; but in the end he yielded and played one or two numbers of Schumann's Papillon, played them like a true artist. As he listened, Thayer held his breath. At last, Arlt's chance had come, and he was making the most of it. The furore of a moment before had been for Arlt more than for himself.
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