have to come back some time when he’s not quite so busy, and I’m sure he’ll be glad to play for you. But right now, I have him working the inventory.”
Clear enough to Brun. A polite, “Pleased to meet you, Miss McAllister,” and the boy was on his way back to the strings. Stark rang up the sale.
A few minutes later, Brun once again found Stark at his side. “You did fine, Brun, but I think a bit of caution around Miss McAllister would be in order. She came to town last fall, moved into a little house out on East Sixth, and set up as a piano teacher for children. Nobody really knows where she came from, except that she’d been a circus performer. Not the most respectable life for a young woman.”
“Maybe she was orphaned,” Brun said. “Or her father was a drunk and the family had no money. I’ve known such back home, sir, and sometimes there was not any respectable work a girl could do so as not to starve.”
The earnestness on Brun’s face took Stark back forty years. “Well, yes, that may be,” he said softly. “Perhaps I should have more sympathy. But her behavior isn’t…well, what you might hope. She’s had any number of beaux, and there have been fights over her affections, one quite a serious affair where a young man suffered a bad injury to his head. And aside from giving piano lessons, she’s involved herself in a business venture with a particularly disagreeable man. Had I not come out when I did, I expect she’d have had you talking for a good while, and then suggested she might like to get to know you better. That would, of course, be your business, though on your own time. But I’d suggest you keep your eyes open and your wits about you.”
Brun remembered the story about the fox and the sour grapes. He thanked his boss, who then went back to his office, leaving Brun to his work and his thoughts.
A little before three, Stark sent Brun out to the bank to make a deposit. When the boy returned, he was surprised to see his boss and Isaac in the office, heavy in conversation with Scott Joplin. As soon as the men saw him, they came out, Stark and Isaac smiling, Joplin’s face as serious as ever. But by now, Brun had decided that was not something to be concerned about.
He was right. Joplin told Brun he’d been to see Mr. Robert Higdon, and Mr. Higdon was willing to take the newcomer as a boarder, with permission to use his piano for practice. “Mr. Higdon expects to see you at his office after you’re done working this afternoon,” Joplin said. “Katy Building. 223 South Ohio.”
“I’m sure you’ll be comfortable there,” Stark said. “Bob Higdon’s a fine young man, very congenial and smart as a whip. He just opened his own law office. Last year he clerked for Bud Hastain, and Bud can’t say enough good about him.
Isaac smiled. “Be one sight better than the Y.”
Joplin nodded, placed his black bowler onto his head, and started to walk out. But Stark called him back. “Brun played me a tune of yours yesterday—‘Maple Leaf Rag’?”
“Yes…that’s my music.”
“Would you play it for me?” Stark gestured Joplin toward the piano. “I’d like to hear it again.”
Without a word, Joplin sat, put his fingers to the keys, and played “Maple Leaf Rag.” Brun looked from his boss to his teacher, and back again. Stark stared like a man in a trance. When Joplin finished, the shopkeeper blinked, then smiled. “That’s one glorious piece of music. Thank you.”
You couldn’t have told from Joplin’s face that he’d received a supreme compliment. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” was all he said; then he was out the doorway.
Isaac shook his head. “That Scott Joplin, he sure be one serious boy.”
Stark said, “What he must hear inside his head, none of us will ever know.” Brun would’ve sworn his boss sounded envious.
***
At five o’clock, Brun left the music store, walked to the corner, then up Ohio. At Fourth Street, a bunch of small boys
Clear enough to Brun. A polite, “Pleased to meet you, Miss McAllister,” and the boy was on his way back to the strings. Stark rang up the sale.
A few minutes later, Brun once again found Stark at his side. “You did fine, Brun, but I think a bit of caution around Miss McAllister would be in order. She came to town last fall, moved into a little house out on East Sixth, and set up as a piano teacher for children. Nobody really knows where she came from, except that she’d been a circus performer. Not the most respectable life for a young woman.”
“Maybe she was orphaned,” Brun said. “Or her father was a drunk and the family had no money. I’ve known such back home, sir, and sometimes there was not any respectable work a girl could do so as not to starve.”
The earnestness on Brun’s face took Stark back forty years. “Well, yes, that may be,” he said softly. “Perhaps I should have more sympathy. But her behavior isn’t…well, what you might hope. She’s had any number of beaux, and there have been fights over her affections, one quite a serious affair where a young man suffered a bad injury to his head. And aside from giving piano lessons, she’s involved herself in a business venture with a particularly disagreeable man. Had I not come out when I did, I expect she’d have had you talking for a good while, and then suggested she might like to get to know you better. That would, of course, be your business, though on your own time. But I’d suggest you keep your eyes open and your wits about you.”
Brun remembered the story about the fox and the sour grapes. He thanked his boss, who then went back to his office, leaving Brun to his work and his thoughts.
A little before three, Stark sent Brun out to the bank to make a deposit. When the boy returned, he was surprised to see his boss and Isaac in the office, heavy in conversation with Scott Joplin. As soon as the men saw him, they came out, Stark and Isaac smiling, Joplin’s face as serious as ever. But by now, Brun had decided that was not something to be concerned about.
He was right. Joplin told Brun he’d been to see Mr. Robert Higdon, and Mr. Higdon was willing to take the newcomer as a boarder, with permission to use his piano for practice. “Mr. Higdon expects to see you at his office after you’re done working this afternoon,” Joplin said. “Katy Building. 223 South Ohio.”
“I’m sure you’ll be comfortable there,” Stark said. “Bob Higdon’s a fine young man, very congenial and smart as a whip. He just opened his own law office. Last year he clerked for Bud Hastain, and Bud can’t say enough good about him.
Isaac smiled. “Be one sight better than the Y.”
Joplin nodded, placed his black bowler onto his head, and started to walk out. But Stark called him back. “Brun played me a tune of yours yesterday—‘Maple Leaf Rag’?”
“Yes…that’s my music.”
“Would you play it for me?” Stark gestured Joplin toward the piano. “I’d like to hear it again.”
Without a word, Joplin sat, put his fingers to the keys, and played “Maple Leaf Rag.” Brun looked from his boss to his teacher, and back again. Stark stared like a man in a trance. When Joplin finished, the shopkeeper blinked, then smiled. “That’s one glorious piece of music. Thank you.”
You couldn’t have told from Joplin’s face that he’d received a supreme compliment. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” was all he said; then he was out the doorway.
Isaac shook his head. “That Scott Joplin, he sure be one serious boy.”
Stark said, “What he must hear inside his head, none of us will ever know.” Brun would’ve sworn his boss sounded envious.
***
At five o’clock, Brun left the music store, walked to the corner, then up Ohio. At Fourth Street, a bunch of small boys
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