"Honey!" the little old man sobbed, as he stumbled towards her chair and
fell to his knees before her, burying his face in her lap.

Neither could say a word for a long time, then the little old man told
her he had been unable to make a single penny by playing.

"No one cares to hear an old man play the violin!" he said. "No one
cares that we go hungry and cold! And I can still play," he added
fiercely, "just as well as ever I could! Listen to this!" and the little
old man stood up and drew his bow across the violin strings in a sure,
fiery manner, so that the lamp chimney rattled and sang with the
vibrations of the strings.

And in his fierceness he improvised a melody so wild and beautiful his
sister sat entranced.

As the little old man finished the melody he stood still more upright.
Then straightening his old shoulders and pulling his hat firmly on his
head, he stooped and kissed the old lady and walked with a firm tread to
the door.

"I shall make them take notice tonight!" he cried. "I shall return with
success!"

So again he went down the long flights of stairs and down the street
until he came to a good corner where traffic was heavy.

There, with the mood upon him which had fired him in the attic, he
played again the wild melody.