De Bosky was ecstatic. Luck had turned. He was confident, even before he ventured to peer out of his single little window, that the sun was shining brightly and that birds were singing somewhere, if not in the heart of the congested East Side. And sure enough the sun was shining, and hurdy-gurdies were substituting for bobolinks, and the air was reeking of spring. A little wistfully he regretted that the change had not come when he needed the overcoat to shield his shivering body, and when the "opportunity" would have insured an abundance of meat and drink, to say nothing of a couple of extra blankets,—but why lament?
There was a sprightliness in his gait, a gleam in his eyes, and a cheery word on his lips as he forged his way through the suddenly alive streets, and made his way to the Subway station. This morning he would not walk. There was something left of the four dollars he had earned the week before shovelling snow into the city's wagons. True, his hands were stiff and blistered, but all that would respond to the oil of affluence. There was no time to lose. She had said in the postscript that he would have to hurry.
Two hours later he burst excitedly into the bookshop of J. Bramble and exclaimed:
"And now, my dear, good friend, I shall soon be able to return to you the various amounts you have advanced me from time to time, out of the goodness of your heart, and I shall—what do I say?—blow you off to a banquet that even now, in contemplation, makes my own mouth water,—and I shall—"
"Bless my soul," gasped Mr. Bramble. "Would you mind saying all of it in English? What is the excitement? Just a moment, please." The latter to a mild-looking gentleman who was poising a book in one hand and inquiring the price with the uplifting of his eyebrows.
De Bosky rapped three or four times on the violin case tucked under his arm.
"After all the years and all the money I spent in mastering this—But, you are busy, my good friend. Pray forgive the interruption—"
"What has happened?" demanded Mr. Bramble, uneasily.
"I have fallen into a fortune. Twenty-five dollars a week,—so!" he said whimsically. "Also I shall restore the five dollars that Trotter forced me to take,—and the odd amounts M. Mirabeau has—Yes, yes, my friend, I am radiant. I am to lead the new orchestra at Spangler's café. I have concluded negotiations with—ah, how quickly it was done! And I approached him with fear and trembling. I would have played for him, so that he might judge,—but no! He said 'No, no!' It was not necessary. Corinne's word was enough for him. You do not know Corinne. She is beautiful. She is an artiste! One day she will be on the lips of every one. Go! Be quick! The gentleman is departing. You will have lost a—a sale, and all through the fault of me. I beseech you,—catch him quick. Do not permit me to bring you bad luck. Au revoir! I go at once to acquaint M. Mirabeau with—au revoir!"
He dashed up the back stairway, leaving Mr. Bramble agape.