There are so many thousand fools, masculine, feminine, but mostly neuter, all busy learning the cant, the mechanics, the wise chatter—faugh! when they can't do a useful hand's turn in life, or even read and write the English language, or think beyond their Selves— To get away down here, it's like emptying my pockets, airing the room, brushing my clothes of 'em!— But Joyce is real, and has that rare thing, a Mind. It will take patience, hard work, study, breaking in— You see, she's in the rough, like—like"—
"A barnyard colt," suggested the captain, all serious attention.
"Ye-es," laughed the musician. "Something not quite so shaggy. I 'll try to be plainer. She has the 'heart that watches and receives,' that's certain: lacks only the chance. I 've said nothing to her, don't know what means may be at her disposal. But if she could have one year in the city, there's start enough. With her quickness, we'd go far. I 've stopped taking pupils: all the more time for her. Of course, my reward would be the fun itself, the pride, seeing the girl forge
