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church； shaking his white Beethovian mane roguishly。
〃It's false pretenses on my part；〃 Bibbs said。 〃You mean to be kind to the
sick； but I'm not an invalid any more。 I'm so well I'm going back to work in
a few days。 I'd better leave before he begins to play； hadn't I？〃
〃No；〃 said Mary； beginning to walk forward。 〃Not unless you don't like great
music。〃
He followed her to a seat about half…way up the aisle while Dr。 Kraft
ascended to the organ。 It was an enormous one； the procession of pipes
ranging from long； starveling whistles to thundering fat guns； they covered
all the rear wall of the church； and the organist's figure； reaching its high
perch； looked like that of some Lilliputian magician ludicrously daring the
attempt to conrol a monster certain to overwhelm him。
〃This afternoon some Handel！〃 he turned to shout。
Mary nodded。 〃Will you like that？〃 she asked Bibbs。
〃I don't know。 I never heard any except 'Largo。' I don't know anything
about music。 I don't even know how to pretend I do。 If I knew enough to
pretend； I would。〃
〃No；〃 said Mary； looking at him and smiling faintly； 〃you wouldn't。〃
She turned away as a great sound began to swim and tremble in the air； the
hugh empty space of the church filled with it； and the two people listening
filled with it； the universe seemed to fill and thrill with it。 The two sat
intensely still； the great sound all round about them； while the church grew
dusky； and only the organist's lamp made a tiny star of light。 His white
head moved from side to side beneath it rhythmically； or lunged and recovered
with the fierceness of a duelist thrusting； but he was magnificently the
master of his giant； and it sang to his magic as he bade it。
Bibbs was swept away upon that mighty singing。 Such a thing was wholly
unknown to him； there had been no music in his meager life。 Unlike the tale；
it was the Princess Bedrulbudour who had brought him to the enchanted cave；
and thatfor Bibbswas what made its magic dazing。 It seemed to him a
long； long time since he had been walking home drearily from Dr。 Gurney's
office； it seemed to him that he had set out upon a happy journey since then；
and that he had reached another planet； where Mary Vertrees and he sat alone
together listening to a vast choiring of invisible soldiers and holy angels。
There were armies of voices about them singing praise and thanksgiving； and
yet they were alone。 It was incredible that the walls of the church were
not the boundaries of the universe； to remain so for ever； incredible that
there was a smoky street just yonder； where housemaids were bringing in
evening papers from front steps and where children were taking their last
spins on roller…skates before being haled indoors for dinner。
He had a curious sense of communication with his new friend。 He knew it
could not be so； and yet he felt as if all the time he spoke to her； saying：
〃You hear this strain？ You hear that strain？ You know the dream that these
sounds bring to me？〃 And it seemed to him as though she answered
continually： 〃I hear！ I hear that strain； and I hear the new one that you
are hearing now。 I know the dream that these sounds bring to you。 Yes； yes；
I hear it all！ We heartogether！〃
And though the church grew so dim that all was mysterious shadow except the
vague planes of the windows and the organist's light； with the white head
moving beneath it； Bibbs had no consciousness that the girl sitting beside
him had grown shadowy； he seemed to see her as plainly as ever in the
darkness； though he did not look at her。 And all the mighty chanting of the
organ's multitudinous voices that afternoon seemed to Bibbs to be chorusing
of her and interpreting her； singing her thoughts and singing for him the
world of humble gratitude that was in his heart because she was so kind to
him。 It all meant Mary。
But when she asked him what it meant；on their homeward way； he was silent。
They had come a few paces from the church without speaking； walking slowly。
〃I'll tell you what it meant to me；〃 she said； as he did not immediately
reply。 〃Almost any music of Handel's always means one thing above all others
to me： courage！ That's it。 It makes cowardice of whining seem so
infinitesimalit makes MOST things in our hustling little lives seem
infinitesimal。〃
〃Yes；〃 he said。 〃It seems odd； doesn't it； that people down…town are
hurrying to trains and hanging to straps in trolley…cars； weltering every way
to get home and feed and sleep so they can get down…town to…morrow。 And yet
there isn't anything down there worth getting to。 They're like servants
drudging to keep the house going； and believing the drudgery itself is the
great thing。 They make so much noise and fuss and dirt they forget that the
house was meant to live in。 The housework has to be done； but the people who
do it have been so overpaid that they're confused and worship the housework。
They're overpaid； and yet； poor things！ they haven't anything that a chicken
can't have。 Of course； when the world gets to paying its wages sensibly that
will be different。〃
〃Do you mean 'communism'？〃 she asked； and she made their slow pace a little
slowerthey had only three blocks to go。
〃Whatever the word is； I only mean that things don't look very sensible
nowespecially to a man that wants to keep out of 'em and can't！
'Communism'？ Well； at least any 'decent sport' would say it's fair for all
the strong runners to start from the same mark and give the weak ones a fair
distance ahead； so that all can run something like even on the stretch。 And
wouldn't it be pleasant； really； if they could all cross the winning…line
together？ Who really enjoys beating anybodyif he sees the beaten man's
face？ The only way we can enjoy getting ahead of other people nowadays is by
forgetting what the other people feel。 And that；〃 he added； 〃is nothing of
what the music meant to me。 You see； if I keep talking about what it didn't
mean I can keep from telling you what it did mean。〃
〃Didn't it mean courage to you； tooa little？〃 she asked。 〃Triumph and
praise were in it； and somehow those things mean courage to me。〃
〃Yes； they were all there；〃 Bibbs said。 〃I don't know the name of what he
played； but I shouldn't think it would matter much。 The man that makes the
music must leave it to you what it can mean to you； and the name he puts to
it can't make much differenceexcept to himself and people very much like
him； I suppose。〃
〃I suppose that's true； though I'd never thought of it like that。〃
〃I image music must make feelings and paint pictures in the minds of the
people who hear it；〃 Bibbs went on； musingly； 〃according to their own natures
as much as according to the music itself。 The musician might compose
something and play it； wanting you to think of the Holy Grail； and some
peo