His thin fingers struck the strings of his
instrument, his eyes closed, and in timid hesitation his song began. The
hall was large, his voice feeble, and Pratap shouted "Bravo!" with
ostentation, but whispered in his ear, "Just a little louder, friend!"
The crowd was restless; some yawned, some dozed, some complained of the
heat. The air of the hall hummed with many-toned inattention, and the song,
like a frail boat, tossed upon it in vain till it sank under the hubbub.
Suddenly the old man, stricken at heart, forgot a passage, and his voice
groped in agony, like a blind man at a fair for his lost leader. He tried
to fill the gap with any strain that came. But the gap still yawned: and
the tortured notes refused to serve the need, suddenly changed their tune,
and broke into a sob. The master laid his head on his instrument, and in
place of his forgotten music, there broke from him the first cry of life
that a child brings into the world.
Pratap touched him gently on his shoulder, and said, "Come away, our
meeting is elsewhere.
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