“You’re a poor man, Theodore,” repeated the heavy guest, “and I’ve got all my father had.”
“And all his second wife had,” added young De Zhirley, with a one-eyed glance of contempt, at which Aarons made a fist. “You go upstairs and sleep off what’s the matter with you, after I give you some coffee.”
“That’s not what I come for. You’re a poor man, Theodore.”
“Well, don’t let that keep you awake; it don’t me.”
“You hain’t got no cattle, nor much land, nor even two eyes.”
“And what do you want on my blind side, Billy?”
“But you’ve got a fiddle. Yes; you’ve got a fiddle.”
De Zhirley moved back and took his violin off the wall with a jealous motion. It was his custom to play while his supper cooked; but as he felt the bow with his thumb, and fitted the instrument to his neck, he looked distrustfully at Aarons.
The first sweet long cry filled the cabin. The fiddler gradually approached the hearth, playing as he came, and Aarons’s head, hands, and feet responded to the magic.
De Zhirley’s back was toward Jeanne, but she saw joy in his whole bearing, and herself felt the piercing rapture of sound.