was, therefore, easily understood;
in no way did it indicate that all he said about the chances of a real
musician in the land of skyscrapers and mighty distances (which he
also told about at length) was of necessity untrue. It had been the
talk of this man which had fascinated Kreutzer; it was the city of
this man's wild fancy which the flute-player expected to encounter
when he reached New York.

The disillusionment came slowly at the start. Certainly the
skyscrapers were existent in a number and a grandeur which the man had
not been able to exaggerate; certainly the railway trains ran up and
down on iron stilts as he had said they did; certainly the crowds were
mighty and amazing both in their brutality and their good nature, just
as he had said they were. Many things there were which, for a time,
preserved the innocent flute-player's faith in his informant. But when
he came to look for work--ah, then vanished the first bubble.
Seemingly there was no place in all the city for an old performer on
the flute save that which Karrosch offered and which Kreutzer would
not take.

Even in this new land, far from those he would avoid, the old
flute-player was determined not to go to the great orchestras, among
whose auditors were likely to be travelers. Thus he barred himself
from opera-houses, theatres and most of the hotels, by the towering
barrier of his own timidity. Nor did he wish to join a union (this
shut him out from many smaller orchestras) or even to enroll himself
at the employment agencies. He would not risk unwelcome prominence
even to that slight extent. Instead of doing these things, which would
at once have won him profitable work, he tramped the streets, looking
for various employment, at first with a resilient hope, then with a
careful industry, at the end of the first month with dogged
determination, finally with a desperation bordering upon despair.

And there were other things to worry him. Early in his search for work
he had made a noontime pause, one day, in a quaint lager-beer saloon
much frequented by musicians. There, at the table where he sat, he had
encountered one who earnestly announced himself as a "wise guy" and
told him much about New York, all quite as pessimistic as the London
romancer's talk had been enthusiastic. He suffered from misfortune
which he blamed, unhesitatingly, to the vileness of the prosperous and
ranted endlessly without attracting much attention till he touched
upon th