Never had Archie played so well, for all his shyness and nervousness. He seemed to gather something of the great man's soul as he played before him at the hotel the following day.
Ventnor became greatly excited. "Boy, boy!" he cried, "you have a great music in you! You must have study and work, like what is it you Canadians say?—like Sam Hill!"
"Yes," said Archie, quietly; "rainy days and east wind days, when I coughed and could not go to school, I worked, and—well, I just worked."
"Me, I should t'ink you did! Why, boy, I will make you great. I will teach you all this summer."
"I'm afraid father can't afford that," faltered Archie.
"Me, I tell you I holiday now. I take no money in my holiday. I teach you because I like you, me," replied the master, irritably.
"But I can never repay you," answered Archie.
"Me, I will give to the world a great musician; it is you! That's repay enough for me—the satisfaction of making one great violinist. That's repay."
And so it all came about. Day after day Ventnor taught, trained and encouraged Archie Anderson. Day after day the boy drew greater music from the heart of his fiddle. He seemed to stride ahead under the power of the master; and as for Ventnor, he seemed beside himself with joy at what he called his "find." They grew to be friends. Archie confided his great discouragement of ill-health, his inability to attend school.
"Me, I fix all that," answered Ventnor. "Me, I go see to-night your parents. I talk to them." And he did, but his "talk" amazed even the boy. He wanted Archie to go with him to California, where his autumn season began. He wanted to adopt him, to take him away for two years. He gesticulated, and raised his eyebrows, and talked down every objection they had.