“Professor Stewart told me to come and see him,” he said to the maid.
“Professor Stewart is out of town,” said she.
“He's gone to New York,” said she. “He was called away unexpectedly last night.”
“He said he'd try to be back the day after tomorrow; but he wasn't sure.”
“Oh!” said she. “Well, can't you come back later on?” And then, seeing that Samuel had nothing better to do than to stare at her dumbly, she closed the door and went about her business.
Samuel walked back in a daze. It gave him a new sense of the world's lack of interest in him. Probably the great man had forgotten him altogether.
There was nothing to do but to wait; and meantime he had only sixty cents. He could not stay with Mrs. Stedman, that was certain. But when he came to tell her, she recurred to a suggestion he had made. There were a few square yards of ground behind her house, given up mostly to tomato cans. If he would plant some garden seed for her she would board him meanwhile. And so Samuel went to work vigorously with a borrowed spade.
Two days passed, and another day, and still the professor had not returned. It was Saturday evening and Samuel was seated upon the steps of the house, resting after a hard day's work. Sophie was seated near him, leaning back against the house with her eyes closed. The evening was warm and beautiful, and gradually the peace of it stole over her. And so at last she revealed herself to Samuel.
“Not everybody does,” she remarked--“I mean real music, such as Friedrich plays.”
“I don't know,” said Samuel. “Who is Friedrich?”
“He's a friend of mine,” Sophie answered. “He's a German boy. His father's the designer at the carpet works. And he plays the violin.”
“I'll take you,” she volunteered. “I generally go to see them on Sunday afternoons. It's the only time I have.”
So the next day Samuel met the Bremers. Their cottage was a little way out in the country, and they had a few trees about it and a flower bed. But the house was not large, and it was well filled with a family of nine children. Johann, the father, was big and florid, with bristling hair. He was marked in the town because he called himself a “Socialist,” but Samuel did not know that. His wife was a little mite of a woman, completely swamped by child-bearing. Most interesting to Samuel was Friedrich, who played the violin; a pale ascetic-looking boy of fifteen, with wavy hair and beautiful eyes.