"Read that, Thorp," he said, and tossed me the message. The letter contained these words:
"The canal treaty will pass the Senate. Use your own judgment."
"In some inexplicable absence of mind I left out the all-important 'not,'" said Indiman, ruefully, "and it has cost me one hundred thousand dollars. Mr. Harding, I beg your pardon. You are the unluckiest man alive," and he went on to tell him of the whispering-gallery and of the secret obtained in manner so extraordinary. "And then, through my stupidity, worse than wasted," he concluded. "I can't understand it; I read that note through twice before I sealed it up. It is incredible."
"No, it is my luck," said young Mr. Harding, and took a fresh cigar. "Or, rather, your luck," he corrected himself, smilingly. "Have you forgotten that I am now your property?"
"God forbid!" said Indiman, hastily. "I give you back yourself—consideration of one dollar. You're a witness, Thorp. And now shall we go in to dinner?"
A position in a wholesale business house was secured for young Mr. Harding, and for a month or two he seemed to be doing very well. Then one day he resigned; a letter to Indiman gave the explanation.
"He's going to marry a wealthy widow," read out Indiman. "They sail on the Lucania next Saturday."
"Then luck has turned for him," I said, heartily. "I'm glad of it."
"Hym!" said Indiman. "Perhaps so."
From the street came the sound of a hand-organ. It was playing Verdi's "Celeste Aida," and so lovely is the aria that I could have listened to it with pleasure, even when thus ground out mechanically. But, unfortunately, an atrocious mistake had been made in the preparation of the music cylinder. In the original the final note of the first two bars is F natural, while in the third bar the tonality is raised and the F becomes F sharp. The transcriber had failed to make this change, and so had lost the uplifting effect of the sharped F. All the life and color of the phrase had been destroyed, and the result was intolerable.