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Updated: May 15, 2025
Not a sad little tune. A Hungarian street song. He did it atrociously. The stubby forefinger came down painstakingly on the white keys. Suddenly the little Jap servant stood in the doorway. Hahn looked up. His cheeks were wet with tears. "God! I wish I could play!" he said. Chet Ball was painting a wooden chicken yellow. The wooden chicken was mounted on a six-by-twelve board.
The thing that had been born in Sid Hahn's mind thirty years before was now so plainly stamped on this boy's face that Hahn was startled into earnestness. "But I tell you, it's true! It's true!" "Maybe. Some day, when I'm living in a place like this, I'll let you know if you're right." In less than a year Wallie Ascher was working with Hahn. No one knew his official title or place.
Hahn was asleep in the chart room. Coniston was in the turret. Coniston would be off duty presently, Anita said, with Hahn taking his place. There were lookouts in the forward and stern watch towers, and a guard upon Snap in the radio room. "Is he inside the room, Anita?" "Snap? Yes." "No the guard." "The guard was sitting on the spider bridge at the door." This was unfortunate.
Wallie Ascher had grinned that winning flash lighting up his dark, keen face. "No. I learned that in another school." Wallie Ascher's early career in the theatre, if repeated here, might almost be a tiresome repetition of Hahn's beginning. And what Augustin Daly had been to Sid Hahn's imagination and ambition, Sid Hahn was to Wallie's.
Inelegant, but expressive of his feelings. But Wallie only said, "You wait. You'll see." Sid Hahn did see. He saw next day. Wallie woke him out of a sound sleep so that he might see. It was ten-thirty A.M. so that his peevishness was unwarranted. Then and there he completed the negotiations which Wallie had begun. Hahn was all for taking the first train out, but Wallie was firm.
One by one, creeping under cover of an invisible cloak, I could fell them, and replace them without alarming others. My thoughts leaped to it. We would strike down the guard in the radio room. Release Snap. At the turret we could assail Hahn, and replace him with Snap. Coniston's voice outside broke in upon us. "Prince." He was coming forward. Anita stood in the doorway.
There were, Anita said, no navigators among Miko's crew. They would not dare oppose us. "But it should be done at once, Anita. In a few hours we will be at the asteroid." "Yes. I will go now and try to get the weapons." "Where is Snap?" "Still in the radio room. One of the crew guards him." Coniston was roaming the ship. He was still loitering on the deck, watching my door. Hahn was in the turret.
The opening is not found in Grimm; I have taken it from Andrews; for which an excellent parallel is given in Crane, lxxvii., "Little Chick-pea." A similar beginning occurs in Hahn, 56, "Pepper-corn." Snowwhite is of special interest to the students of the folk-tale as being obviously a late product combining many motifs from different, more primitive, or at least earlier formulæ.
He let Captain Hahn preach his German gospel of system on earth and organization to man, and walked beside him in silence, with pensive eyes fixed ahead, where the prisoner and his escort moved in a plodding black group. He had not that gift of seeing life and its agents in the barren white light of his own purposes which so simplified things for Captain Hahn.
"I will not rest I will not eat I will not sleep I will not love until I have it." Which was, of course, an exaggerated absurdity. "Oh, what rot!" Wallie Ascher had said, angrily, and then he had thought of his own symbol of success, and his own resolve. And his face had hardened. Sid Hahn looked at the two of them; very young, both of them, very gifted, very electric.
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