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‘‘And no doubt they were happy？'' Mildred suggested smilingly。
‘‘Yes；'' said the old man； with assumed sentiment； ‘‘even when his
profession called him far away； for she had made him promise her he
never would play upon the two strings whose music had won her heart； so
those strings were mute； except for her。''
The old man puffed away in silence for a moment； then with logical
directness continued： ‘‘Perhaps the string that's mute upon Diotti's violin
is mute for some such reason。''
‘‘Nonsense；'' said the girl； half impatiently。
‘‘The string is black and glossy as the tresses that fall in tangled skeins
on the shoulders of the dreamy beauties of Tuscany。 It may be an idle
fancy； but if that string is not a woven strand from some woman's
crowning glory； then I have no discernment。''
‘‘You are jesting； uncle；'' she replied； but her heart was heavy already。
‘‘Ask him to play on that string； I'll wager he'll refuse；'' said the old
man； contemptuously。
‘‘He will not refuse when I ask him； but I will not to…night；'' answered
the unhappy girl； with forced determina… tion。 Then； taking the old man's
hands； she said： ‘‘Good…night； I am going to my room； please make my
excuses to Signor Diotti and father；'' and wearily she ascended the stairs。
Mr。 Wallace and the violinist soon after joined old Sanders； fresh
cigars were lighted and regrets most earnestly expressed by the violinist
for Mildred's ‘‘sick headache。''
‘‘No need to worry； she will be all right in the morning；'' said Sanders；
and he and the violinist buttoned their coats tightly about them； for the
night was bitter cold； and together they left the house。
In her bed…chamber Mildred stood looking at the portrait of her lover。
She studied his face long and intently； then crossing the room she
mechanically took a volume from the shelf； and as she opened it her eyes
fell on these lines：
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‘‘How art thou fallen from Heaven； O Lucifer； son of the Morning！''
***
Old Sanders builded better than he knew。
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The Fifth String
XI
When Diotti and old Sanders left the house they walked rapidly down
Fifth Avenue。 It was after eleven； and the streets were bare of pedestrians；
but blinking…eyed cabs came up the avenue； looking at a distance like a
trail of Megatheriums； gliding through the darkness。 The piercing wind
made the men hasten their steps； the old man by a semi…rotary motion
keeping up with the longer strides and measured tread of the younger。
When they reached Fourteenth Street； the elder said； ‘‘I live but a
block from here；'' pointing eastward； ‘‘what do you say to a hot toddy？ It
will warm the cockles of your heart； come over to my house and I'll mix
you the best drink in New York。''
The younger thought the suggestion a good one and they turned
toward the house of old Sanders。
It was a neat； red brick； two…story house； well in from the street； off the
line of the more pretentious buildings on either side。 As the old man
opened the iron gate； the police officer on the beat passed； he peered into
the faces of the men； and recognizing Sanders； said； ‘‘tough night； sir。''
‘‘Very；'' replied the addressed。
‘‘All good old gentlemen should be in bed at this hour；'' said the
officer； lifting one foot after the other in an effort to keep warm； and in so
doing showing little terpsichorean grace。
‘‘It's only the shank of the evening； officer；'' rejoined the old man； as
he fumbled with the latch key and finally opened the door。 The two men
entered and the officer passed on。
Every man has a fad。 One will tell you he sees nothing in billiards or
pool or golf or tennis； but will grow enthusiastic over the scientific
possibilities of mumble…peg； you agree with him； only you substitute
‘‘skittles'' for ‘‘mumble… peg。''
Old Sanders' fad was mixing toddies and punches。
‘‘The nectar of the gods pales into nothingness when compared with a
toddy such as I make；'' said he。 ‘‘Ambrosia may have been all right for the
degenerates of the old Grecian and Roman days； but an American
gentleman demands a toddya hot toddy。'' And then he proceeded with
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The Fifth String
circumspection and dignity to demonstrate the process of decocting that
mysterious beverage。
The two men took off their overcoats and went into the sitting…room。 A
pile of logs burned brightly in the fire…place。 The old man threw another
on the burning heap； filled the kettle with water and hung it over the fire。
Next he went to the sideboard and brought forth the various ingredients for
the toddy。
‘‘How do you like America？'' said the elder； with commonplace
indifference； as he crunched a lump of sugar in the bottom of the glass；
dissolving the particles with a few drops of water。
‘‘Very much； indeed；'' said the Tuscan； with the air of a man who had
answered the question before。
‘‘Great country for girls！'' said Sanders； pouring a liberal quantity of
Old Tom gin in the glass and placing it where it gradually would get
warm。
‘‘And for men！'' responded Diotti； enthusiastically。
‘‘Men don't amount to much here； women run everything；'' retorted the
elder； while he repeated the process of preparing the sugar and gin in the
second glass。 The kettle began to sing。
‘‘That's music for you；'' chuckled the old man； raising the lid to see if
the water had boiled sufficiently。 ‘‘Do you know I think a dinner horn and
a singing kettle beat a symphony all hollow for real down…right melody；''
and he lifted the kettle from the fire…place。
Diotti smiled。
With mathematical accuracy the old man filled the two tumblers with
boiling water。
‘‘Try that；'' handing a glass of the toddy to Diotti； ‘‘you will find it all
right；'' and the old man drew an arm… chair toward the fire…place； smacking
his lips in anticipation。
The violinist placed his chair closer to the fire and sipped the drink。
‘‘Your country is noted for its beautiful women？''