That evening, carrying with him a pair of wooden legs, as a
pleasant surprise for the abbreviated parent, Paul called at
the cosy Harlem apartment where dwelt the young girl who had so
attracted his attention that morning.
As the young girl opened the door for him with a glad cry, Paul
proffered the wooden legs. “These are for your father,” he said;
“he has a heart of oak, I know, and now he will have legs to match.”
“Bless you, young sir,” cried the father of the girl. “This will
place me on a better footing with the world! And should I die they
will be a legacy for both of you. And now, thank gracious! I can
play the pianola!”
[Illustration: “_The grateful father adjusted the artificial limbs
and was soon playing Handel with his feet._”]
So saying the grateful father adjusted the artificial limbs and was
soon playing Handel with his feet, extracting from the music chords
of wood, as it were, of a timbre most surprising.
* * * * *
This was not all. Paul secured the old man a political position
as a stump speaker, at which he was doubly successful, and how he
stood on public questions is well known; his physical disability,
of course, stood in the way of his ever running for office.
As for the daughter, Paul married her. There is no need to tell you
her name. She is Mrs. Postelwaite now and that is enough.
They are still a musical family, and the pride of their home is a
Baby Grand.