There was a rustle of millinery at Billie's side as Jane Hubbard rose
and followed him. Jane was deeply stirred. Even as he sat, looking so
pale and piteous, at the piano, her big heart had gone out to him, and
now, in his moment of anguish, he seemed to bring to the surface
everything that was best and most compassionate in her nature.
Thrusting aside a steward who happened to be between her and the door,
she raced in pursuit.
Sam Marlowe had watched his cousin's dash for the open with a
consternation so complete that his sense seemed to have left him. A
general, deserted by his men on some stricken field, might have felt
something akin to his emotion. Of all the learned professions, the
imitation of Mr. Frank Tinney is the one which can least easily be
carried through single-handed. The man at the piano, the leader of the
orchestra, is essential. He is the life-blood of the entertainment.
Without him, nothing can be done.
For an instant Sam stood there, gaping blankly. Then the open door of
the saloon seemed to beckon an invitation.
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