Ordinsky. A girl who makes her
own living can ask a college boy to supper without being talked about. We
take some things for granted."
"Then I have misjudged you, and I ask your pardon,"--he bowed gravely.
"Miss Lingard," he went on, "is an absolutely trustful heart. She has not
learned the hard lessons of life. As for you and me, noblesse oblige,"--he
watched me narrowly.
Lena returned with the vest. "Come in and let us look at you as you go
out, Mr. Ordinsky. I've never seen you in your dress suit," she said as
she opened the door for him.
A few moments later he reappeared with his violin case--a heavy muffler
about his neck and thick woolen gloves on his bony hands. Lena spoke
encouragingly to him, and he went off with such an important, professional
air, that we fell to laughing as soon as we had shut the door. "Poor
fellow," Lena said indulgently, "he takes everything so hard."
After that Ordinsky was friendly to me, and behaved as if there were some
deep understanding between us. He wrote a furious article, attacking the
musical taste of the town, and asked me to do him a great service by
taking it to the editor of the morning paper. If the editor refused to
print it, I was to tell him that he would be answerable to Ordinsky "in
person." He declared that he would never retract one word, and that he was
quite prepared to lose all his pupils.
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