“Would you not consider, Major, that he would indeed be a bold man who would take issue with Ruskin on this subject?” asked Hugh.
“He might be rather a very foolish man,” replied the major. “What does Ruskin say?”
“He says,” replied Hugh, “that none but the dissolute among the poor look upon the rich as their natural enemies, or desire to pillage their homes and divide their property. None but the dissolute among the rich speak in opprobrious terms of the vices and follies of the poor.”
“That’s all right, Stanton,” said the major, but there was an irritable ring in his voice, as he arose and walked back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back. “That’s all right,” he repeated; “the trouble is, however, that too many of the rich are dissolute.”
“How about the poor?” asked Hugh. “Is n’t there a considerable number of them who would like to divide up property?”
“Hold on, Stanton,” said the major; “stop right there. You and I must not talk politics. My convictions are so strong that I find myself irritated by your words. I am beginning to feel ugly toward you.”
“Questions of social or political reform, at best, are usually unsatisfactory,” replied Hugh, “and I quite agree with you that nothing can be gained by heated discussions.”
The major made no reply, but soon afterward, at his request, they walked down the street toward his home. On reaching the privacy of the library, the major turned to Hugh and said, “Stanton, I have something to say to you. I feel like taking you into my confidence more than I have ever done, and still—well, I don’t know,—some other time, perhaps, might be better.” Hugh observed an earnestness in the words of the major, and in the expression of his face, that he had never noticed before. There was a soft intonation in his musical Southern voice that was most convincing. This, together with his dignity and refinement of manners, elevated him in Hugh’s eyes almost to the height of sublimity. He turned away from Hugh in apparent half indecision, and went into another room; but soon returned with a violin.
“What, are you master of all musical instruments?” asked Hugh, looking up in pleased surprise.
“Master is a strong word,” replied the major, as he gently tuned the aged Stradivarius, and softly thumbed the strings. Then, tenderly embracing the violin with his chin, as he placed it in position, he brought his bow at right angles, and Schumann’s “Trbumerei” trembled from the strings in soft and plaintive melody, filling every corner of the room with echoing and reechoing notes of sweetness. Other airs followed one after another in quick succession, and, as he played, the pleading tones seemed to grow richer and deeper in their harmonic cadences.