uch
injured, and so is the arm. You are a musician, are you not?"

"A violinist, sir. If it had been the right arm instead of the left, I
might have managed with the bow. But I cannot play a note."

Mr. Gay was informed of the accident, in a letter from Anita. He was
genuinely sorry, but the theatre had to be served. He had to procure
another violinist at once. For four miserable weeks Nello ate his
heart out, and Papa Peron seemed to grow weaker every day.

When life and motion returned to the poor damaged fingers, there were
only a few shillings left in the house. Peron had announced that if
help did not come soon they must sell the piano, the one bit of
property he owned in the world. So, at least, he averred.

Nello could play now. He went round at once to Gay's lodging in Gower
Street. Could he be taken on again? The kindly conductor hemmed and
hawed; he was obviously very much embarrassed.

"We had to fill up your place, my dear chap, and the new man has
proved quite satisfactory. It is, of course, awfully hard on you. But,
you see, I can't sack him to put you in his place."

"Of course not," answered Nello quietly. Misery was gnawing at his
heart, but he was just. The man who was taken on had possibly been in
the same state of wretchedness as himself. He would hardly have cared
to turn him out, if Gay had been willing.

"And how is the dear old Papa?" asked Gay, trying to relieve an
awkward situation with the inquiry.

"He is very ill; not far from death, I fear," was Nello's answer. And
then the truth, which he could no longer conceal, flashed out. "And
very soon he will be close to starvation."

Gay looked shocked. He had experienced his ups and downs, but he had
never been in such a tight corner as this. He fumbled in his waistcoat
pocket and produced a sovereign, which he thrust into the other man's
hand.

"Terrible, terrible! I am sorry I cannot do more; but I am a poor man,
too."

Nello took it, but his face burned, it was such obvious charity.

"I accept it, Monsieur, with gratitude, and I thank you for the kind
thought. But can you help me to find work? I want to earn money, not
to beg it."

"Sit down a moment while I think." The kind-hearted conductor was very
distressed himself at the piteous state of affairs.

"I have it," he exclaimed after a few moments of reflection. "You have
heard of Paul Degraux?"

"One of the directors of the Covent Garden Opera?"

"Right," said Gay. "Well,