lay the flute."

"Bring it along?"

"Yah; surely."

"Let 'er go, then. Give us something good and lively."

With nervous hands Herr Kreutzer raised the old flute to his lips,
with fingers which put tremolos where none were written in the score;
but he made many of the notes dance joyously. Through anxious lips he
blew his soul into the instrument--his love of the pre-eminent
composer who had sung the song he played, his love of his sweet
daughter for whose sake he played--his love of her and fear for her if
he should fail to win the favor of his burly listener. The great
"Spring Song" of Mendelssohn has never been played on a flute as
Kreutzer played it, in the grey light of that morning in the
cheerless, bare beer-garden. When he had finished there was silence in
the crowd behind him. Not a man among the applicants for the position
was a real musician, but all knew, instinctively, that they had been
listening to a veritable artist. Then, after an awed moment, there
came a little spatter of applause. All these men were seeking for a
chance to earn the mere necessities of life; every one of them was
more than anxious, was pitifully eager for the small position which
was open; but, having heard Herr Kreutzer play, they hoped no
longer--and were generous.

The owner of the beer-garden looked on them in surprise.

"Got it all framed up," he said, "that Dutchy is to have the job, have
you?" He turned, then, to Kreutzer. "That's all right, too, I guess.
Showed you can play real fast and that is somethin' with a crowd, all
right, all right. But don't you know some really _good_ music?"

"Good music!" Kreutzer faltered, at a loss. That which he had played
had been among the best the world has ever known.

"Yes; rag-time stuff, an' such. Real pop'lar."

"No," said Kreutzer, sadly, "I fear I do not know good music of the
kind you name." He made as if to turn away, but then bethought himself
and whirled back hopefully. "But I can learn," he said. "Simple
things, without a doubt, I could play on sight."

"Off the notes, you mean?"

"Yah; so."

"Take this, then." The manager held toward him a thick book of
rag-time melodies.

Kreutzer, too desperate to be disgusted, ran through half-a-dozen of
them rapidly. Now the manager beamed pleasantly.

"Say, you'll do, all right, all right," he told the flute-player.
Then, turning to the rest he motioned them away. "Beat it, you guys,"
he commanded. "Father Rhine here's got