MEET ME ON THE BARRICADES

weends] must be smooth like fast-moving water, like
air in motion. But you [withering scorn], you play
it like a German band.”

And so in this vein for nearly five minutes.

Finally he paused and shrugged his shoulders
helplessly. It was precisely on an occasion such as
this that Turano had once smashed a costly violin
over the head of a concert-master. Subsequently, a
court had exonerated him on the surprising ground
that his incontrollable fury flowed from the identical
afflatus which also bestowed upon the world the in-
comparable gifts of his great art.

Simpson, strangely enough, now listened to Tu-
rano’s invective with growing sympathy. For did he
not know the torments of creation? The mood engen-
dered by his daydream was still upon him, the
applause of his phantom audience still rang in his
ears and his face was radiant with triumph. And only
the triumphant may indulge in the luxury of
tolerance.

In a haze of sympathy and generosity he suddenly,
almost involuntarily, arose to address the conductor.

“Maestro .”

Turano stood speechless for a few seconds scarcely
believing his eyes. Finally he bellowed:

“What do you want?”

6