Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. “Ssh!” said her mother, and then added, “A little natural feeling, dear. But his treasured dream lay shattered at his feet. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool of himself. " "How so?" inquired Winifred.
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