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Updated: June 6, 2025
And so the time came in which Daniel was to earn his own bread. Spindler journeyed to Eschenbach to confer with Marian Nothafft. The woman did not understand him. She felt tempted to laugh. Music had meant in her life the droning of a hurdy-gurdy, the singing of a club of men, the marching of a military band. Was her boy to wander from door to door and fiddle for pennies?
Ef this ain't the richest thing out! They say there's two more relations o' Spindler's on the coach, come down as express freight, consigned, d'ye hear? consigned to Spindler!" "Stiffs, in coffins?" suggested an eager voice. "I didn't get to hear more. But here they are." There was the sudden irruption of a laughing, curious crowd into the bar-room, led by Yuba Bill, the driver.
Say, Beulah, have you heard about Jess Tighe?" "What about him?" "He had a stroke last night. Doc Spindler thinks he won't live more than a few hours." Beulah mused over that for a few moments without answer. She had no liking for the man, but it is the way of youth to be shocked at the approach of death. Yet she knew this would help to clear up the situation.
Spindler?" asked the widow, with a slight mischievousness. "Lordy! No!" he responded, with unaffected concern. Only one mistake was made by Mrs. Price in her arrangements for the party.
Spindler was a man who asserted quite correctly that he had been meant for better things than wearing himself out in a provincial town. His white locks framed a face ennobled by the melancholy that speaks of lost ideals and illusions. One summer morning Spindler had risen with the sun and gone for a long walk in the country.
She had noticed what the simple-minded Spindler could never have conceived, the feeling towards him held by his old associates, and had tactfully suggested that a general invitation should be extended to them in the evening. "You can have refreshments, you know, too, after the dinner, and games and music."
Spindler seemed a mere madman to her. She pressed her hands together, and looked at him as at a man who was wasting trivial words on a tragic disaster. The music-master realised that his influence was as narrow as his world, and was forced to leave without accomplishing anything. Marian wrote a letter to Jason Philip Schimmelweis.
"If it isn't I can stay away, can't I? Well, I'm not going to quarrel with you, Beulah. Good-night." As soon as he was out of sight of the ranch, Charlton turned the head of his horse, not toward his own place, but toward that of Jess Tighe. Dr. Spindler drove up while Beulah was still on the porch. He examined the bruised ankle, dressed it, and pronounced that all it needed was a rest.
For you're going away, and will never see Rough and Ready and poor Spindler again. But what am I to do, miss? How am I to face it out? For you know I've got to tell him at least that you're no half-niece of his!" "Have you?" said the young lady. "Have I?" repeated the widow impatiently. "Have I? Of course I have! What are you thinking of?"
Yet, oddly enough, she was so prepossessed by him, and so fascinated by his very Quixotism, that it was perhaps for these complex reasons that she said a little stiffly: "One of these cousins, I see, is a lady, and then there is your niece. Do you know anything about them, Mr. Spindler?" His face grew serious. "No more than I know of the others," he said apologetically.
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