“But they are already limber, Herr,” she returned, in a tone of mild protest.
“Vait, vait,” he good-naturedly said. “Vait just a few veeks und den you vill see vhat you shall see. I vill have you doing vhat you Americans call ‘stunts’ on dat violin. Really, it vill surprise you! Your fingers are stiff. See; I vill show you. Now, try dis exercise—here!” He opened one of her music books and pushed the music before her.
“Right there, now. One—two—t’ree! One—two—t’ree!—”
Dorothy swung off into the exercise with apparent ease, but soon reached a difficult scale in the third position. Somehow her fingers would not go where she intended them. She tried it once—twice—then stopped, flushing.
“You see?” said the Herr professor. “If I vant to be mean, I vould say, ‘I told you so.’”
“Oh, Herr, I beg your pardon! I will never dispute your word again—never—never! My fingers are stiff. They are all right for ordinary music in the first and second positions, but the third I can hardly do at all, and I’m sure I have practiced and practiced it.”
“Surely you have practiced it, but never as you shall during de next few veeks. It iss only by constant application to a certain method dat great violin players are made. Dey are expected to accomplish de impossible. Dat may sound rather vague to you, but you vill some day understand vhat I mean.”
“I understand what you mean now, Herr. I find an exercise which it is impossible for me to play. But I keep everlastingly at it until I can play it. In that way I have achieved what seemed to be the impossible.”