s Thayer came striding out across the
stage. Arlt was beside him, for Thayer had refused an orchestral
accompaniment and had left _Danny Deever_ in the hands of a pianist. His
choice had been a wise one for Arlt. The two of them had spent hours
over the song, and the young German surpassed himself in the swift
changes of _motif_ until, as he left _Danny's_ soul freeing itself from
the swinging body and took up the cheery theme of the quickstep once
more, even Thayer was relegated momentarily to the background, as a mere
librettist to the passionate fury of the accompaniment.

Again and again the applause broke out; again and again Thayer insisted
upon leading Arlt before the audience to make his bow; but still the
audience refused to be satisfied. Even the most graceful of bows is not
enough, when one is thoroughly aroused.

"Play something, Arlt," Thayer ordered him at last.

Arlt shook his head.

"It is for you they are calling."

"Nonsense. 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. Sad experience had taught him the futility
of _Danny_, unless it were adequately accompanied, and the audience were
discerning enough to give honor to whom honor was due. Standing in the
wings, Thayer exulted in each note which fell from the boy's fingers,
round and mellow and weighted with passionate meaning. Arlt was
betraying his hopes and fears more than he realized, just then, and
Thayer grew impatient for his closing phrase, that he might hear the
storm of applause which was bound to follow. He had not counted upon the
veering wind of popular interest which scattered the storm, leaving only
the gentle patter of a summer shower. The critics applauded; but society
applied its lorgnette to its eye and discovered that, in his excitement,
Arlt had neglected to make sure that his tie was mathematically
straight. The patter died away into silence. Then the wind veered again
and the storm broke out afresh, mingled with cries of Thayer's name.

Arlt's lips worked nervously, as he joined Thayer in the wings.

"It was you they wanted, after all," he said, with a pitiful attempt at
a smile.

"Then they are damned fools," Thayer replied savage