CHAPTER XXI. FORTUNE SMILES AGAIN.
Notwithstanding his exertions during the day and evening, Philip rose the next day at his usual hour, and was in time for the family breakfast, at seven o'clock.
"Don't you feel tired, Mr. Gray?" asked Mrs. Webb.
"No, thank you. I slept well, and feel quite refreshed."
"He's used to it, Lucy," remarked her husband.
"They look upon me as a professional player," thought Philip.
"I think you and I ought to be more tired, for we were dancing all the evening," continued the farmer.
When they rose from the table, Philip looked for his hat.
"You're not going to leave us so soon, Mr. Gray?" said Mrs. Webb hospitably. "We shall be glad to have you stay with us a day or two, if you can content yourself."
"That's right, Lucy. I'm glad you thought to ask him," said her husband.
Philip was tempted to accept this kind invitation. He would have free board, and be at no expense, instead of spending the small sum he had earned the evening previous; but he reflected that he would be no nearer solving the problem of how he was to maintain himself, and while this was in uncertainty, he was naturally anxious.
"I am very much obliged to you both," he said. "If I come this way again, I shall be glad to call upon you, but now I think I must be pushing on."
"You'll always be welcome, Mr. Gray," said Mrs. Webb.
Philip thanked her, and soon after set out on his way.
He was more cheerful and hopeful than the day before, for then he was well nigh penniless, and now he had three dollars in his pocket.
Three dollars was not a very large sum, to be sure, but to one who had been so near destitution as Philip it seemed very important.
Besides, he had discovered in his violin a source of income, whereas, hitherto, he had looked upon it merely as a source of amusement. This made him feel more independent and self-reliant.
He had walked perhaps two miles, when he heard the rattle of wheels behind him. He did not turn his head, for there was nothing strange in this sound upon a frequented road. He did turn his head, however, when he heard a strong voice calling "Hello!"
Turning, he saw that a young man who was driving had slackened the speed of his horse, and was looking toward him.
Philip halted, and regarded the driver inquiringly.
"You're the young chap that played for a dance last night, ain't you!" said the newcomer.
"Yes, sir."
"Then you're the one I want to see—jump in, and we'll talk as we are going along."
Philip had no objection to a ride, and he accepted the invitation with alacrity. The driver, he noticed, was a young man, of pleasant manners, though dressed in a coarse suit.
"I drove over to Jonas Webb's to see you, and they told me you had just gone," he continued. "I thought maybe you'd get up late, but you was up on time. Are you engaged for this evening?"
Philip began to prick up his ears and become interested. Was it possible that his good luck was to continue, and that he was to have an opportunity of earning some more money through his faithful friend, the violin? He didn't think it well to exhibit the satisfaction he felt, and answered, in a matter-of-fact tone;
"No, I have no engagement for this evening."
"I'm glad of it," responded the young man, evidently well pleased. "You see, we had arranged to have a dance over to our place, but Mr. Beck, being sick, we thought we'd have to give it up. One of my neighbors was over last evening and heard you play, and he thought maybe we could secure you."
"I shall be glad to play for you," said Philip politely.
"What are your terms?" asked his companion.
"Three dollars and board and lodging for the time I need to stay."
"That's satisfactory. I'll engage you."
"Is it near here?" asked Philip.
"It's in Conway—only four miles from here. I'll take you right over now, and you shall stay at my house."
"Thank you, I shall find that very agreeable," said Philip.
"Does Mr. Beck live near you?" asked our hero, a little later.
"Bless you! he lives in our place."
"I suppose his services are in demand?"
"Yes, he is sent for to all the towns around. Fact is, there isn't anybody but he that can play to suit; but I expect, from what I've heard, that you can come up to him."
"I couldn't expect to do that," said Philip modestly. "I am very young yet."
"Folks do say you beat Paul. It seems wonderful, too, considering how young you are. What might be your age, now?"
"Just sixteen."
"Sho! you don't say so? Why, Paul Beck's over fifty."
"Mr. Beck won't think I'm interfering with him, will he?" asked Philip.
"Of course, he can't. We'd a had him if he was well. We can't be expected to put off the party because he's sick. That wouldn't be reasonable, now, would it?"
"I should think not."
Just then Philip became sensible that a light wagon was approaching, driven by a young lady.
He did not, however, suppose it was any one he knew till the carriage stopped, and he heard a voice saying:
"Good morning, Mr. Gray!"
Then he discovered that it was the same young lady who had asked for an introduction to him the evening previous.
"Good morning, Miss Snodgrass!" he said politely, remembering, fortunately, the young lady's name.
Meanwhile, Maria and Philip's drivers had also exchanged salutations, for they were acquainted.
"And where are you carrying Mr. Gray, Mr. Blake?" she asked.
"I'm carrying him over to our place. He's going to play for us this evening."
"Is there going to be a dance in Conway this evening?" inquired Miss Snodgrass, with sudden interest.
"Yes. Won't you come over?"
"I will, if I can get Jedidiah to bring me," answered Maria.
"I guess there's no doubt about that," answered Andrew Blake, who knew very well Jedidiah's devotion to the young lady.
"Oh, I don't know!" answered Maria coquettishly. "Perhaps he won't care for my company."
"If he doesn't, you won't have any trouble in finding another beau."
After a little more conversation, the young lady drove away; but not without expressing to Philip her delight at having another chance to hear his beautiful playing.
"She'll be there," said Andrew Blake, as they drove away. "She makes Jedidiah Burbank do just as she orders him."
"Are they engaged?" asked our hero.
"Yes, I expect so; but there may be some chance of your cutting him out, if you try. The young lady seems to admire you."
Philip smiled.
"I am only a boy of sixteen," he said. "I am too young to think of such things. I won't interfere with Mr. Burbank."
"Jedidiah's apt to be jealous," said Blake, "and Maria likes to torment him. However, she'll end by marrying him, I guess."
In half an hour or thereabouts, Andrew Blake drew up at the gate of a small but neat house on the main street in Conway. He was a carpenter, as Philip afterward found, and had built the house himself. He was probably of about the same age as Jonas Webb, and like him was married to a young wife.
During the afternoon, Philip, being left pretty much to his own devices, took a walk in and about the village, ascending a hill at one side, which afforded him a fine view of that and neighboring villages.
He was pleasantly received and hospitably entertained at the house of Mr. Blake, and about quarter of eight started out for the hall, at which he was to play, in company with his host and hostess.
As they approached the hall, a young man approached them with a perplexed face.
"What do you think, Andrew?" he said. "Paul Beck's in the hall, as mad as a hatter, and he vows he'll play himself. He says he was engaged, and no one shall take his place."
Andrew Blake looked disturbed, and Philip shared in his feeling. Was he to lose his engagement, after all?
CHAPTER XXII. RIVAL MUSICIANS.
They entered the hall, which was already well filled, for the young people of both sexes liked to have as long a time for enjoyment as possible.
At the head of the hall, in the center of a group, stood a tall, thin man, dressed in solemn black, with a violin under his arm. His face, which looked like that of a sick man, was marked by an angry expression, and this, indeed, was his feeling.
"I suppose that's Mr. Beck?" said Philip.
"Yes, it is," answered Andrew Blake, in evident discomposure. "What on earth brings him here from a sick-bed, I can't understand. I heard that he had a fever."
The fact was that Paul Beck was jealous of his reputation as a musician. It was satisfactory to him to think that he was so indispensable that no one could take his place. He had sent word to the committee that he should be unable to play for them, supposing, of course, that they would be compelled to give up the party. When intelligence was brought to him during the afternoon that it would come off, and that another musician had been engaged in his place, he was not only disturbed, but angry, though, of course, the latter feeling was wholly unreasonable. He determined that he would be present, at any rate, no matter how unfit his sickness rendered him for the evening's work. He resolved to have no rival, and to permit no one to take his place in his own town.
It did not seem to occur to Mr. Beck that, having formally declined the engagement on account of sickness, he had no claim whatever on the committee, and was, in fact, an interloper. It was in vain that his sister protested against his imprudence. (He was an old bachelor and his sister kept house for him.) He insisted on dressing himself and making his way to the hall, where, as was to be expected, his arrival produced considerable embarrassment.
Paul Beck stood in sullen impatience awaiting the arrival of his rival.
It so happened that no one had thought to mention to him that it was a boy. He was prepared to see a full-grown man.
Philip followed Andrew Blake up to the central group.
"Who is it, I say," Mr. Beck was inquiring, "that engaged another musician to take my place?"
"No one, sir," answered Andrew Blake firmly, for Mr. Beck's unreasonableness provoked him. "I engaged a musician to play this evening, but it was not in your place, for you had sent us word that you could not appear."
"Where is he, I say?" continued Paul Beck sourly.
"Here he is," replied Blake, drawing toward our hero, who felt that he was placed in an awkward position.
"Why, he's only a baby!" said Beck, surveying our hero contemptuously.
Philip's cheek flushed, and he, too, began to feel angry.
"He isn't as old as you are, Mr. Beck," said Andrew Blake manfully, "but you'll find he understands his business."
"I certainly didn't expect you to get a child in my place," said Paul Beck scornfully.
"I suppose a musician may know how to play, if he isn't sixty-five," said Miss Maria Snod-grass, who had listened indignantly to Mr. Beck's contemptuous remarks about our hero, whose cause she so enthusiastically championed.
Poor Mr. Beck! He was sensitive about his age, and nothing could have cut him more cruelly than this exaggeration of it. He was really fifty-five, and looked at least sixty, but he fondly flattered himself that he looked under fifty. "Sixty-five!" he repeated furiously. "Who says I am sixty-five?"
"Well, you look about that age," said Maria, with malicious pleasure.
"I shall have to live a good many years before I am sixty," said Paul Beck angrily. "But that's either here nor there. You engaged me to play to-night, and I am ready to do it."
Andrew Blake felt the difficulty of his position, but he did not mean to desert the boy-musician whom he had engaged.
"Mr. Beck," said he, "we shall be glad to have you serve us on another occasion, but to-night Mr. Gray, here, is engaged. You gave up the engagement of your own accord, and that ended the matter, so far as you are concerned."
"Do you refuse to let me play?" demanded Paul Beck, his pale cheek glowing with anger and mortification.
"You understand why," answered Blake. "This young man is engaged, and we have no right to break the engagement."
Philip, who had felt the embarrassment of his position, had meanwhile made up his mind what to do. The three dollars he expected to earn were important to him, but he didn't care to make trouble. He did not doubt that his lodging and meals would be given him, and that would be something. Accordingly, he spoke:
"I have been engaged, it is true," he said, "but if Mr. Beck wants to play I will resign my engagement and stay and hear him."
"No, no!" exclaimed several—Mr. Blake and Miss Snodgrass being among them.
"Mr. Gray, you were regularly engaged," said one of the committee.
"That's true," answered Philip, "and," he couldn't help adding, "I should be justified in insisting upon playing; but since Mr. Beck seems to feel so bad about it, I will give way to him."
He spoke manfully, and there was no sign of weakness or submission about him. He asserted his rights, while he expressed his willingness to surrender them.
There was a little consultation among the committee. They were all disgusted with the conduct of Paul Beck, and were unwilling that he should triumph. At the same time, as they might need his services at some future time, they did not wish wholly to alienate him.
Finally, they announced their decision through Andrew Blake.
"We are not willing to accept Mr. Gray's resignation wholly," he said, "but we propose that he and Mr. Beck shall divide the evening's work between them—each to receive half the usual compensation."
There was considerable applause, for it seemed to be a suitable compromise, and would enable the company to compare the merits of the rival musicians.
"I agree," said Philip promptly.
"What do you say, Mr. Beck?" asked Andrew Blake.
Now, while Paul Beck did not like to give up half the honor, he felt thoroughly convinced that Philip was only a beginner, and that he, as an experienced player, could easily eclipse him, and thus gain a triumph which would be very gratifying to his pride.
As for the compensation, to do him justice, he did not much care for that, being a man of very good means. He played more for glory than for pay—though he, of course, had no objection to receiving compensation.
"I have no objections," he said. "If you want to give the boy a chance to practice a little, I am willing."
Philip understood the sneer, and he secretly determined to do his best.
The committee was much pleased at the satisfactory conclusion of what had threatened to be a very troublesome dispute, and it was arranged, Philip consenting, that Mr. Beck should play first.
The old musician played, in a confident manner, a familiar dancing-tune, accompanying his playing with various contortions of the face and twistings of his figure, supposed to express feeling. It was a fair performance, but mechanical, and did not indicate anything but very ordinary talent. His time was good, and dancers always found his playing satisfactory.
When Paul Beck had completed his task, he looked about him complacently, as if to say, "Let the boy beat that if he can," and sat down.
Philip had listened to Mr. Beck with attention. He was anxious to learn how powerful a rival he had to compete with. What he heard did not alarm him, but rather gave him confidence.