in rough weather. Now, if you had learned how to make harness–
However, it’s too late now; too late. But it’s no good plan to
cry over spilt milk. But as to the boys, you see–what’s to
become of them if anything happens to you?”
“It has been my idea to let the eldest one succeed me–”
“Oh, come! Suppose the firm don’t want him?”
“I hadn’t thought of that, but–”
“Now, look here; you want to get right down to business and
stop dreaming. You are capable of immense things–man. You can
make a perfect success in life. All you want is somebody to
steady you and boost you along on the right road. Do you own
anything in the business?”
“No–not exactly; but if I continue to give satisfaction, I
suppose I can keep my–”
“Keep your place–yes. Well, don’t you depend on anything
of the kind. They’ll bounce you the minute you get a little old
and worked out; they’ll do it sure. Can’t you manage somehow to
get into the firm? That’s the great thing, you know.”
“I think it is doubtful; very doubtful.”
“Um–that’s bad–yes, and unfair, too. Do you suppose that
if I should go there and have a talk with your people– Look
here–do you think you could run a brewery?”
“I have never tried, but I think I could do it after a
little familiarity with the business.”
The German was silent for some time. He did a good deal of
thinking, and the king waited curiously to see what the result
was going to be. Finally the German said:
“My mind’s made up. You leave that crowd–you’ll never
amount to anything there. In these old countries they never give
a fellow a show. Yes, you come over to America–come to my place
in Rochester; bring the family along. You shall have a show in
the business and the foremanship, besides. George–you said your
name was George?–I’ll make a man of you. I give you my word.
You’ve never had a chance here, but that’s all going to change.
By gracious! I’ll give you a lift that’ll make your hair curl!”
——————————————————————
AT THE SHRINE OF ST. WAGNER
Bayreuth, Aug. 2d, 1891
It was at Nuremberg that we struck the inundation of music-
mad strangers that was rolling down upon Bayreuth. It had been
long since we had seen such multitudes of excited and struggling
people. It took a good half-hour to pack them and pair them into
the train–and it was the longest train we have yet seen in
Europe. Nuremberg had been witnessing this sort of experience a
couple of times a day for about two weeks. It gives one an
impressive sense of the magnitude of this biennial pilgrimage.
For a pilgrimage is what it is. The devotees come from the very
ends of the earth to worship their prophet in his own Kaaba in
his own Mecca.
If you are living in New York or San Francisco or Chicago or
anywhere else in America, and you conclude, by the middle of May,
that you would like to attend the Bayreuth opera two months and a
half later, you must use the cable and get about it immediately
or you will get no seats, and you must cable for lodgings, too.
Then if you are lucky you will get seats in the last row and
lodgings in the fringe of the town. If you stop to write you
will get nothing. There were plenty of people in Nuremberg when
we passed through who had come on pilgrimage without first
securing seats and lodgings. They had found neither in Bayreuth;
they had walked Bayreuth streets a while in sorrow, then had gone
to Nuremberg and found neither beds nor standing room, and had
walked those quaint streets all night, waiting for the hotels to
open and empty their guests into trains, and so make room for
these, their defeated brethren and sisters in the faith. They
had endured from thirty to forty hours’ railroading on the
continent of Europe–with all which that implies of worry,
fatigue, and financial impoverishment–and all they had got and
all they were to get for it was handiness and accuracy in kicking