The Turmoil Booth Tarkington (best reads .txt) 📖

Much of the music of Wagner, it appears, is not suitable to the piano. Wagner was a composer who could interpret into music such things as the primitive impulses of humanity⁠—he could have made a machine-shop into music. But not if he had to work in it. Wagner was always dealing in immensities⁠—a machine-shop would have put a majestic lump in so grand a gizzard as that.

There is a mystery about pianos, it seems. Sometimes they have to be “sent away.” That is how some people speak of the penitentiary. “Sent away” is a euphuism for “sent to prison.” But pianos are not sent to prison, and they are not sent to the tuner⁠—the tuner is sent to them. Why are pianos “sent away”⁠—and where?

Sometimes a glorious day shines into the most ordinary and useless life. Happiness and beauty come caroling out of the air into the gloomy house of that life as if some stray angel just happened to perch on the rooftree, resting and singing. And the night after such a day is lustrous and splendid with the memory of it. Music and beauty and kindness⁠—those are the three greatest things God can give us. To bring them all in one day to one who expected nothing⁠—ah! the heart that received them should be as humble as it is thankful. But it is hard to be humble when one is so rich with new memories. It is impossible to be humble after a day of glory.

Yes⁠—the adorable nose is more than an eighth of an inch shorter than the Greek nose. It is a full quarter of an inch shorter.

There are women who will be kinder to a sick tramp than to a conquering hero. But the sick tramp had better remember that’s what he is. Take care, take care! Humble’s the word!

That “mystery about pianos” which troubled Bibbs had been a mystery to Mr. Vertrees, and it was being explained to him at about the time Bibbs scribbled the reference to it in his notes. Mary had gone upstairs upon Bibbs’s departure at ten o’clock, and Mr. and Mrs. Vertrees sat until after midnight in the library, talking. And in all that time they found not one cheerful topic, but became more depressed with everything and with every phase of everything that they discussed⁠—no extraordinary state of affairs in a family which has always “held up its head,” only to arrive in the end at a point where all it can do is to look on helplessly at the processes of its own financial dissolution. For that was the point which this despairing couple had reached⁠—they could do nothing except look on and talk about it. They were only vaporing, and they knew it.

“She needn’t to have done that about her piano,” vapored Mr. Vertrees. “We could have managed somehow without it. At least she ought to have consulted me, and if she insisted I could have arranged the details with the⁠—the dealer.”

“She thought that it might be⁠—annoying for you,” Mrs. Vertrees explained. “Really, she planned for you not to know about it until they had removed⁠—until after tomorrow, that is, but I decided to⁠—to mention it. You see, she didn’t even tell me about it until this morning. She has another idea, too, I’m afraid. It’s⁠—it’s⁠—”

“Well?” he urged, as she found it difficult to go on.

“Her other idea is⁠—that is, it was⁠—I think it can be avoided, of course⁠—it was about her furs.”

“No!” he exclaimed, quickly. “I won’t have it! You must see to that. I’d rather not talk to her about it, but you mustn’t let her.”

“I’ll try not,” his wife promised. “Of course, they’re very handsome.”

“All the more reason for her to keep them!” he returned, irritably. “We’re not that far gone, I think!”

“Perhaps not yet,” Mrs. Vertrees said. “She seems to be troubled about the⁠—the coal matter and⁠—about Tilly. Of course the piano will take care of some things like those for a while and⁠—”

“I don’t like it. I gave her the piano to play on, not to⁠—”

“You mustn’t be distressed about it in one way,” she said, comfortingly. “She arranged with the⁠—with the purchaser that the men will come for it about half after five in the afternoon. The days are so short now it’s really quite winter.”

“Oh, yes,” he agreed, moodily. “So far as that goes people have a right to move a piece of furniture without stirring up the neighbors, I suppose, even by daylight. I don’t suppose our neighbors are paying much attention just now, though I hear Sheridan was back in his office early the morning after the funeral.”

Mrs. Vertrees made a little sound of commiseration. “I don’t believe that was because he wasn’t suffering, though. I’m sure it was only because he felt his business was so important. Mary told me he seemed wrapped up in his son’s succeeding; and that was what he bragged about most. He isn’t vulgar in his boasting, I understand; he doesn’t talk a great deal about his⁠—his actual money⁠—though there was something about blades of grass that I didn’t comprehend. I think he meant something about his energy⁠—but perhaps not. No, his bragging usually seemed to be not so much a personal vainglory as about his family and the greatness of this city.”

“ ‘Greatness of this city’!” Mr. Vertrees echoed, with dull bitterness. “It’s nothing but a coal-hole! I suppose it looks ‘great’ to the man who has the luck to make it work for him. I suppose it looks ‘great’ to any young man, too, starting out to make his fortune out of it. The fellows that get what they want out of it say it’s ‘great,’ and everybody else gets the habit. But you have a different point of view if it’s the city that got what it wanted out of you! Of course Sheridan says it’s ‘great.’ ”

Mrs. Vertrees seemed unaware of this unusual outburst. “I believe,” she began, timidly, “he doesn’t boast of⁠—that