a huge benefit concert, the proceeds of which were to
be presented to Mrs. Tom and her babies. Hock heard of it first--nothing
ever escaped his lynx-like ears. Astride the window-sill he communicated
his gossip to Archie something in this fashion:

"Say, Arch, they're going to have the best performance. Miss Van Alstine
from New York is going to sing, and some long-haired fellow at one of
the hotels is going to play the piano--they say he's great; and, oh!
say, Arch, did you ever hear of a great fiddler named Ventnor?"

"Only the world-renowned Ventnor," said Archie. "Why do you ask, Hock?"

"Well, he's the one! 'Greatest on earth,' they say. Gets thousands of
dollars every night he fiddles. He's staying at the Lake View Hotel,
and--"

"Ventnor _here_!" fairly screamed Archie. "The _great_ Ventnor! Oh,
Hock, is he going to play?"

"Yes, he is!" said Hock, smacking his lips together with glee that
something had at last taken Archie out of himself and made him forget
his frailty, if only for a moment, "Yes, siree," continued Hock. "He's
going to play three times. Heard him say so myself when they asked him
on the beach this morning. He speaks the tanglest-legged English you
ever heard. He said, 'Me, I holiday; me, I not blay when I holiday.'
Then a batch of ladies tried to explain things to him, and when his
Russian-Italian-French brain got around things, he up with his hands and
ran them through his long grey hair and wagged his head, and said, 'Me,
I understand! Me, I don't blay money when I holiday, but me, I blay for
unfortunate beeples. I blay dree times.' Oh, it was funny, Arch!"

"Funny!" said Archie. "Funny! Hock, I'll knock you down if you call
Ventnor 'funny.' Why, it's the most beautiful thing in the world for
him to do. Oh, Hock! and to think that at last I will hear him!"

"I never heard tell of him before," observed Hock, with evident pride
in his ignorance.

"There's no greater violinist in the world, Hock," replied Archie with
enthusiasm. His cheeks were scarlet, his eyes sparkling, his thin hands
trembling with excitement.

"Well, I'm not keen on hearing anyone fiddle any better than you do,"
Hock answered soberly. "Whenever you fiddle you just give me the
jim-jams, with the creeps going up and down my back; and what's worse,
I always have to blow my nose when you get through."

"What a good chap you are, Hock! You make me believe in myself. Perhaps
I really will amount to something some day,"