crowded around the little red and yellow popcorn and peanut wagon. The squat vendor yanked at a string, whereupon a shrill whistle sent the boys into a frenzy of shrieking and clutching at their ears. Brun smiled, but felt a little sad.
A sign in a window at the Katy Building announced that Mr. Robert Higdon took general law cases and lent money at five percent. Brun opened the door, looked around inside, then walked in. Higdon’s waiting room was empty, the air warm and close. A faint scent of violets around the small secretary’s desk next to an inner door told him the secretary had left not all that long before. Brun knocked at the inner door, no answer. A moment’s hesitation, then he turned the knob and pulled the door open just enough to peer inside and see the room was empty. He shut the door, walked back across the waiting room, settled into a homey brown sofa opposite the desk, and rested his head back against the cushion. Next he knew, he heard, “Mr. Campbell, I presume.”
Brun scrambled to his feet before he was full-awake, and blinked up into Robert Higdon’s face. The lawyer was about thirty, a good six feet tall, with a broad face and wide-set brown eyes. His ears stuck out like jug handles, and the lines of his full lips were soft, just a trace of a smile at the right corner. He wore a neat, well-tailored three-piece light worsted suit, with a red and green plaid bow tie set around a crisp white collar. Mr. Higdon didn’t buy clothes on the cheap.
“I apologize for keeping you, Mr. Campbell. I was called out unexpectedly.”
“That’s all right, sir. I suspect the lawyer business can be unpredictable. And please, if you’d like, call me Brun.”
“Good. I’ll do that.” Higdon draped an arm over the boy’s shoulders. “Come on inside, and let’s get better acquainted.”
They sat and talked for about half an hour, mostly Higdon asking questions about Brun, and Brun replying, mostly with the truth, and when not, close enough to do. All in all, the boy’s answers seemed to satisfy Mr. Higdon, who agreed that Brun could lodge and take meals in his home, and practice on the new Steinway grand in his living room, so long as that practice didn’t take place too late at night or too early in the morning. Terms would be a sawbuck a month. Higdon laughed at the look that came over Brun’s face. “Aren’t those terms satisfactory to you, Brun?”
“Well, no—I mean, yes. I’m sorry, sir, I guess I’m just surprised. They’re way more generous than I’d ever thought.
“I don’t think you’d make a very good business negotiator.”
“I’m sure that’s the truth, Mr. Higdon. I hope I’m a lot better on the piano than I’d be in a business office.”
Higdon’s grin went wry. “Well, touché, Brun, and fair enough. I play piano myself, though with far more enthusiasm than skill. But I do love music. I get to most of the shows at Wood’s Opera House, and the dances Saturday nights in the hall at Second and Ohio, above the St. Louis Clothing Store. You might enjoy those yourself. Scott Joplin provides the music—that’s where I got to know him. The fact that he’s willing to have you as a piano student means a lot. And Mr. Stark told me that as well as he could tell in a day, he was favorably impressed with your abilities and thought you were of sound character. If both Scott Joplin and John Stark are willing to take a chance on you, so will I.”
“Well, Mr. Higdon, I sure am grateful for that.”
Higdon pulled a gold pocket watch from behind his vest, flipped it open, frowned. “I think we’d better be heading home. My sister gets annoyed when I’m late for dinner. You can pick up your things at the Y later, if that’s all right.”
More than all right with Brun, who’d had nothing to eat since his pancake breakfast. He kept time with Higdon down Ohio, then west onto Sixth, and along to a two-story white frame house, recently painted, with a wide wraparound porch
A sign in a window at the Katy Building announced that Mr. Robert Higdon took general law cases and lent money at five percent. Brun opened the door, looked around inside, then walked in. Higdon’s waiting room was empty, the air warm and close. A faint scent of violets around the small secretary’s desk next to an inner door told him the secretary had left not all that long before. Brun knocked at the inner door, no answer. A moment’s hesitation, then he turned the knob and pulled the door open just enough to peer inside and see the room was empty. He shut the door, walked back across the waiting room, settled into a homey brown sofa opposite the desk, and rested his head back against the cushion. Next he knew, he heard, “Mr. Campbell, I presume.”
Brun scrambled to his feet before he was full-awake, and blinked up into Robert Higdon’s face. The lawyer was about thirty, a good six feet tall, with a broad face and wide-set brown eyes. His ears stuck out like jug handles, and the lines of his full lips were soft, just a trace of a smile at the right corner. He wore a neat, well-tailored three-piece light worsted suit, with a red and green plaid bow tie set around a crisp white collar. Mr. Higdon didn’t buy clothes on the cheap.
“I apologize for keeping you, Mr. Campbell. I was called out unexpectedly.”
“That’s all right, sir. I suspect the lawyer business can be unpredictable. And please, if you’d like, call me Brun.”
“Good. I’ll do that.” Higdon draped an arm over the boy’s shoulders. “Come on inside, and let’s get better acquainted.”
They sat and talked for about half an hour, mostly Higdon asking questions about Brun, and Brun replying, mostly with the truth, and when not, close enough to do. All in all, the boy’s answers seemed to satisfy Mr. Higdon, who agreed that Brun could lodge and take meals in his home, and practice on the new Steinway grand in his living room, so long as that practice didn’t take place too late at night or too early in the morning. Terms would be a sawbuck a month. Higdon laughed at the look that came over Brun’s face. “Aren’t those terms satisfactory to you, Brun?”
“Well, no—I mean, yes. I’m sorry, sir, I guess I’m just surprised. They’re way more generous than I’d ever thought.
“I don’t think you’d make a very good business negotiator.”
“I’m sure that’s the truth, Mr. Higdon. I hope I’m a lot better on the piano than I’d be in a business office.”
Higdon’s grin went wry. “Well, touché, Brun, and fair enough. I play piano myself, though with far more enthusiasm than skill. But I do love music. I get to most of the shows at Wood’s Opera House, and the dances Saturday nights in the hall at Second and Ohio, above the St. Louis Clothing Store. You might enjoy those yourself. Scott Joplin provides the music—that’s where I got to know him. The fact that he’s willing to have you as a piano student means a lot. And Mr. Stark told me that as well as he could tell in a day, he was favorably impressed with your abilities and thought you were of sound character. If both Scott Joplin and John Stark are willing to take a chance on you, so will I.”
“Well, Mr. Higdon, I sure am grateful for that.”
Higdon pulled a gold pocket watch from behind his vest, flipped it open, frowned. “I think we’d better be heading home. My sister gets annoyed when I’m late for dinner. You can pick up your things at the Y later, if that’s all right.”
More than all right with Brun, who’d had nothing to eat since his pancake breakfast. He kept time with Higdon down Ohio, then west onto Sixth, and along to a two-story white frame house, recently painted, with a wide wraparound porch
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