fter he had heard the child
play.

"The sign says that you teach music, and I--I--then I saw your name
outside." The little fellow seemed to think that he had committed some
crime in coming in unasked. Von Barwig put him at his ease, then
called in Pinac and Fico, and they listened to the child's playing in
open-mouthed astonishment. Bit by bit Von Barwig elicited his history
from him. His name, it appeared, was Josef Branski, and he was the
oldest of seven children. His father and mother had come from Warsaw,
in Poland, and worked in a sweat shop below Grand Street near the
river. Josef himself worked there, too, and helped to support his
family, who all lived in three small rooms. His parents would miss him
and be angry, he said, and this partly accounted for the little
fellow's anxiety. Von Barwig shook his head; he already had many
pupils who couldn't pay, as well as several who didn't pay, but here
was one who had to steal the time in which to learn his beloved art.
It would be a crime not to teach the boy, he thought, so he determined
to take him as his pupil.

Some six months later an excited Pole bounded into Von Barwig's room
and in a mixture of Polish, German and Hebrew threatened Von Barwig
with the law if he continued to take his son away from him. He was, as
nearly as Von Barwig could make out, little Josef Branski's father.
Von Barwig vainly endeavoured to explain to the man that the boy could
make his parents rich if they allowed him to study and develop himself
as an artist, but they must give him time to practise, instead of
compelling him to sew at a machine twelve or fourteen hours a day. The
older Branski either could not or would not understand. He declared
that he did not want his son to be a worthless musician (for he
evidently associated Von Barwig with the gipsy, an inferior type of
musician) and could not be made to understand that the boy had talent,
even genius. He needed the boy's help and wanted no further
interference from Von Barwig. Von Barwig saw that it was useless and
gave up trying to dissuade him from his purpose in condemning the boy
to the merciless grind of a sweat shop machine. So it was that little
Josef came at night only for his lessons. This went on for some time,
but Von Barwig shook his head sadly as he saw that the boy was tired
out with his day's work and could not take in the instruction. Finally
he told Josef that he had better not come again, as the