The man's powers of endurance in listening often exceeded mine in
performing--yet I am not sure that he was always listening. At times
I became so oppressed with fatigue and sleepiness that it took almost
superhuman effort to keep my fingers going; in fact, I believe I
sometimes did so while dozing. During such moments this man sitting
there so mysteriously silent, almost hid in a cloud of heavy-scented
smoke, filled me with a sort of unearthly terror. He seemed to be some
grim, mute, but relentless tyrant, possessing over me a supernatural
power which he used to drive me on mercilessly to exhaustion. But
these feelings came very rarely; besides, he paid me so liberally I
could forget much. There at length grew between us a familiar and warm
relationship, and I am sure he had a decided personal liking for me.
On my part, I looked upon him at that time as about all a man could
wish to be.


The "Club" still remained my headquarters, and when I was not playing
for my good patron, I was generally to be found there. However, I no
longer depended on playing at the "Club" to earn my living; I rather
took rank with the visiting celebrities and, occasionally, after being
sufficiently urged, would favor my old and new admirers with a number
or two. I say, without any egotistic pride, that among my admirers
were several of the best-looking women who frequented the place, and
who made no secret of the fact that they admired me as much as they
did my playing. Among these was the "widow"; indeed, her attentions
became so marked that one of my friends warned me to beware of her
black companion, who was generally known as a "bad man." He said
there was much more reason to be careful because the pair had lately
quarreled and had not been together at the "Club" for some nights.
This warning greatly impressed me and I resolved to stop the affair