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Price as a hostess. In fact, he proposed to her that the invitation should also convey that information in the expression, "by the kind permission of the Rev. Mr. Saltover," as a guarantee of good faith, but the widow would have none of it. The invitations were duly written and dispatched. "Suppose," suggested Spindler, with a sudden lugubrious apprehension, "suppose they shouldn't come?"
He hated her when her feelings remained unmoved. If he at last came to see, after much introspection, that she was right, then he would have liked to fall down and worship the unknown power that was so inexorable in pointing him the way. Spindler had a beautiful harp which he had bequeathed to Daniel in his will. It had remained in Ansbach in the possession of the old lady who kept house for him.
A deep groan here broke from Uncle Jim Starbuck. "Didn't I tell ye?" he said, turning appealingly to the others. "It's that darned widow that's at the bottom of it all! She first put Spindler up to givin' the party, and now, darn my skin, ef she ain't goin to fix up these ragamuffins and drill 'em so we can't get any fun outer 'em after all!
"Take note of it, and write to Duplessis. Go on." "M. Spindler sends from Namur the secret report on M. Ardouin." "To be examined." "M. Ardouin sends from the same town the secret report on M. Spindler." "To be examined." "Doctor Van Ostadt, of the same town, sends a confidential note on the subject of Messrs. Spindler and Ardouin." "To be compared. Go on!"
"How long since you've seen 'em?" asked Mrs. Price, apparently addressing herself to the stocking. Spindler gave a weak laugh. "Well, you see, ef it comes to that, I've never seen 'em!" Mrs. Price put the stocking in her lap and opened her direct eyes on Spindler. "Never seen 'em?" she repeated. "Then, they're not near relations?"
"Well, yes," said Spindler, with a slight hesitation, "ye see, I'm reckonin' to hev a kinder Christmas gatherin' of my" he was about to say "folks," but dismissed it for "relations," and finally settled upon "relatives" as being more correct in a preacher's house. Mrs. Price thought it a very good idea.
Thus appealed to, Bracy, the express messenger, stepped forward in Yuba Bill's place. "It's nothing particular, gentlemen," he said, with a laugh, "only it seems that some man called Spindler, who lives about here, sent an invitation to the father of these children to bring his family to a Christmas party.
And so he came to Bayreuth, the Jerusalem of his yearning, and forced himself to an appearance of industry in order to remain in that spot where sun and air and earth and the very beasts and stones and refuse breathe that music of which Spindler had said that he himself had a profound presentiment of its nature but was too old to grasp and love it wholly.
Bad novels and similar productions from the pen of writers who were once famous, such as Spindler, Bulwer, Eug�ne Sue, and so on, serve this purpose. But what can be more miserable than the fate of a reading public of this kind, that feels always impelled to read the latest writings of extremely commonplace authors who write for money only, and therefore exist in numbers?
With an absorbed and devout expression he was seeking to elicit a melody from a flute which one of the musicians had loaned him. Spindler stood still and looked up. The musicians laughed, but he did not share in their merriment. A long while passed before the unskilful player of the flute became aware of his teacher. Then he climbed down and tried to steal away with a shy greeting.
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