he looked up at the falling snow against a gray sky;
the tangle of branches above them; the misty pools of light beneath the
gaslights. She glanced at his serene face, turning, though she
continued to walk.

"I believe you almost kissed me back there, did you not Professor?"

"So, it's 'Professor' again, is it?" He smiled the faintest of smiles
and looked away down the street. "Miss Haviland, you did not ask to be
kissed--back there." She turned quickly in front of him to catch his
gaze, so that he had to stop. "Not in so many words," he added, "I
mean--you hesitated as much as I."

"Fancy that," she replied with a laugh, and began walking again,
swinging her legs gaily, letting her skirt billow.

He touched her hand, draped over his forearm, and she felt the warmth
of his fingers through her glove. They walked on beneath bare branches
and quietly falling snow. It seemed far too warm for snow--tropical
almost, as if the gaslights were warming the whole scene--the whole
world. Winter was about to melt--the sun might even rise the next
instant and spring would return in a blaze of gold and green with soft
rain, the scent of flowers.

"In future, perhaps I _shall_ ask, Professor." She leaned to grip his
arm more tightly and whispered. "Perhaps I shall."

=====================================================================

THE HUNGARIAN LIGHTBULB

When the symphony orchestra collapsed in ruin after years spent
floating, half-dead near bankruptcy, all the musicians were thrown out
of work. At that time nearly everyone was out of work anyway--many of
them discovered soup-kitchens and soon found employment at menial
tasks. A few--the lucky or the talented, but mostly those with both
luck and talent--found other musical work well below stevedore's wages.

Jurgen had tremendous talent but no luck, yet he could not imagine any
other life than being a violist. He would not look for non-musical
work--everything was unsuitable, and certainly unattractive. He took
the little savings he had and went West thinking to find a place less
crowded with hungry musicians. Rather than spend his money on
transportation he settled on a romantic adventure: he made friends
around the freight yards and rode the rails west until he arrived on
the outskirts of a comfortably large city with a clean look--and there
he decided to make his home. The city was familiar to him, as a
professional musi