II

ERNEST SCHELLING

THE HAND OF A PIANIST


As I sat in the luxurious salon of the apartments near the Park, where
Mr. and Mrs. Ernest Schelling were spending the winter, sounds of
vigorous piano practise floated out to me from a distant chamber. It was
unusual music, and seemed to harmonize with the somewhat Oriental
atmosphere and coloring of the music-room, with its heavily beamed
ceiling of old silver, its paintings and tapestries.

The playing ceased and soon the artist appeared, greeting the visitor
with genial friendliness of manner. He was accompanied by the "lord of
the manor," a beautiful white bull terrier, with coat as white as snow.
This important personage at once curled himself up in the most
comfortable arm-chair, a quiet, profound observer of all that passed. In
the midst of some preliminary chat, the charming hostess entered and
poured tea for us.

The talk soon turned upon the subject in which I was deeply
interested--the technical training of a pianist.

"Technic is such an individual matter," began Mr. Schelling; "for it
depends on so many personal things: the physique, the mentality, the