Books › Blue Book v073-n03 [1941-07], 1941 › scan 51
Scan 51
Blue Book v073-n03 [1941-07], 1941
45 lines. Read by computer on 18 September 2026. No printed page number was found. See the scan on archive.org.
1He felt that he was no use to anyone.
3too near the platform's edge, when he saw the man coming, heard him greeted by eager voices of recognition on all sides, watched him take a violin out of its worn case and start playing a tune.
5"Bli'me if he aint a good 'un!" said a man next to Moore. "Seen him last week at Charing Cross, I did. . . . Touched in the head, someone says."
7Moore, who himself had a violin at home, little used these latter years, was astonished by the fiddler; the man could really play. He had a distinguished look; he was dark and lean, with grizzled locks falling about his ears, and a finely chiseled profile. As he played, his eyes wandered about. Moore got the idea that he was searching, not aimlessly.
9Touched in the head? Well, one could never tell, these days. The Blitz put some people under.
11The two brats made a simultaneous dive for the rails. Moore checked them, and was furious at the neglect until he located the mother, who had three others clumped about her. Another woman came to the rescue and the two were put in safety. The fiddler, ceasing his playing, nodded and smiled to Moore, as though to an old acquaintance; but he was not.
13"It's a wonderful thing," he said, then chinned his fiddle again and struck into a gay Vieuxtemps fragment, smiling the while. But his eyes never ceased to wander.
15Presently trains were coming through again. Moore boarded one and went on—to Knightsbridge and his empty flat.
17DURING the days that followed he thought more than once of the violinist whose face was one to haunt the memory, somehow. He got out his own violin, tried to play, put it sadly away again. He thought of the man's words: "It's a wonderful thing!" What was?
19Then, one afternoon, as Moore limped up to the Strand in search of a taxi—he was not much good at walking any more—he came face to face with the man in front of the Savoy. The fiddler looked neat and well dressed, and had the violin case under his arm. He met the gaze of Moore and nodded with recognition.
21"Oh, hello!" said Moore. "Saw you in the tube the other evening, didn't I?"
23"And you with the children," was the reply. "Yes. Having a quiet day today, eh?"
25"Come inside and have a drink," Moore said on quick impulse.
27The other accepted. "I haven't been in here for a long time," he said, as they entered. "I used to play here, a long while ago."
29Over a drink, they exchanged names. Ralph Haldon wore well at close view. Touched in the head? Moore dismissed the possibility with scorn.
31"That instrument of yours has a tone," he said. "I played a bit myself, once."
33"Yes; I thought so," said Haldon. "You're the type. It's an Amati. I used to play until things broke up for me, a month ago."
35Moore was amazed. Conservatoire, the Promenade Concerts—why, the man was one of the best!
37As they pursued acquaintance, Haldon proved himself a man of charm and far more. He was given to odd speeches, odd words, unfinished thoughts.
39Moore inquired:
40"What did you mean, that night in the tube, when you said it was a wonderful thing? What was wonderful?"
42Haldon smiled. "You know of yourself, Moore; no need for me to tell you. You have understanding; you have suffered. You limp, and one who limps usually is given compensation in strange ways."
44"Limp? Yes. I was with the artillery—got this foot two days before the Armistice. That was a long time ago."
The computer misreads some letters and numbers. Where a name matters to you, read the scan.