62 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CEUISEE 



be holding down the job you are. But my feeling 

 was a little more than mere inquisitiveness. It's 

 fairly evident that you must have had some hard 

 luck, and I suppose I wanted to find out what the 

 trouble was, and try to understand, if I could and 

 perhaps help, if that was possible. That was what 

 was in my mind." 



Ewing smoked in silence for a moment. 



"Damn it!" he burst out, "there's no reason why 

 you shouldn't know. I'd like to tell you." 



He talked for a long time, unconscious of the pass- 

 ing moments. Bit by bit the snarl of his unhappy 

 history was untangled. There was no smooth nar- 

 rative of events just a halting, broken recital, stum- 

 bling in the darkness, through clenched teeth. A. 

 story as old as the world, but new to each whose life 

 it enters, 



Ewing was not his real name. His family is well- 

 known. As a boy, the packer said, his talent for 

 music was encouraged. He developed rapidly, and 

 so long as his skill did not pass the limits of a mere 

 accomplishment, the family was well content. But 

 when they understood that he meant mastery of the 

 violin to be his life's work objection arose. His 

 father cajoled and threatened. Dilettantism the 

 gentleman understood it was a tenet of his creed. 

 Professionalism was tabooed. 



It ended in the boy's leaving home abruptly with 

 the avowed purpose of making a living by his violin. 



