He only wanted to be let alone, so that he could listen to those strange, beautiful sounds that made a shiver of joy go down his back.

Art had had her day; it was Music's turn.
When the last number had been played, he turned to the queer lady: "Do they do it every night ?" She smiled at his enthusiasm: "Wednesdays and Saturdays." "Say," said Sandy, confidentially, "if you come first do you save me a seat, and I'll do the same by you." From that time on he decided to be a musician, and he lived on two scanty meals a day in order to attend the concerts.
But this exalted scheme of high thinking and plain living soon became irksome.

One day, when his loneliness weighed most heavily upon him, he was sent with a message out to the switch-station.

As he tramped back along the track he spied a familiar figure ahead of him.

There was no mistaking that short, slouching body with the peddler's pack strapped on its back.