Read Online Young Man With a Horn by Dorothy Baker - Free Book Online
Authors: Dorothy Baker
Tags: General Fiction
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himself, keeping it sharp and precise and making it break just right for him. He played a drum the way Bill Robinson dances, never at a loss for a new pattern, but always holding it down and keeping it clean.
When it was over, Jeff said, ‘Anyhow you didn’t go soft while you’ve been away.’ Smoke didn’t hear him; he was talking to George Ward, and so Jeff said to Rick, ‘If that horse would get off the dime and get him a decent set of traps there wouldn’t be a better man in the business.’
‘I know,’ said Rick.
‘But he can’t ever seem to get organized,’ Jeff went on. ‘He’s all the time sticking around home playing ball with the kids on the street, or else just hanging around home talking to his folks, or else just hanging around town. He never stays on a job more than a week.’
He sat there hitting chords and scowling at the keyboard while he talked. ‘I sure do wish something would get him jarred loose. Every time I hear him play it gets me sort of sore he won’t do anything about it. Seems like he won’t grow up and get onto himself.’
This was the first time it had ever been given to Rick to know the pleasure of confidential talk, and it had him glowing. He looked at Jeff and made answer; Smoke, he said, at least had music on his mind all the time; he knew that from working with him.
‘Then he’s working,’ Jeff said. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Well, not exactly a regular job,’ Rick said. ‘He helps out at Gandy’s where I work. The pool hall.’
Jeff looked at him again and said: ‘That must be where I’ve seen you, I guess. All night I been trying to think where.’
‘It’s not such a very good job,’ Rick said, ‘but I’m trying to make enough money to get a trumpet, now I haven’t got a piano any more.’
‘I don’t see why you couldn’t use this piano, if you want to,’ Jeff said. ‘I’ve got a key to the hall and there’s never anybody here in the day. I bet nobody’s ever here before five.’
Rick said he couldn’t do that and put everybody to such a lot of trouble and everything. But after that he said a thing that he had no intention of saying. He said, ‘You don’t ever give piano lessons, do you, like a piano teacher?’
The four in front were playing alone, trying things out, and letting Jeff and Rick talk. Ward stood over his drums, watching Smoke play them.
‘No,’ Jeff said. ‘I couldn’t teach piano. I taught my brother a thing or two, but he’d have learned it anyhow.’
He stopped a minute, thinking about it and then he said, ‘But I guess I could show you some things about it, if you’d like me to.’
‘I’d pay whatever you charge,’ Rick said in the big way he had.
‘I wouldn’t want to do that,’ Jeff said. ‘I couldn’t teach you anything, just show you how it goes, if you’d like me to.’
‘Well, I’d sure appreciate it,’ Rick said. It sounded pretty lame; all the social courtesy had got away from him.
Somebody looked around and Jeff said, ‘Play that thing you were just playing again; sounded good.’
And Smoke said a thing that was hard to say; he said, ‘Take your drums,’ and got up from Ward’s chair. ‘Don’t you want to play them any more?’ Ward said, but he said it in a way that cut off all possibility of an affirmative reply. Then Jeff gave them the beat and they played again, and then again and again. Rick stayed right there on the piano bench beside Jeff, but he didn’t limit his ear to Jeff’s piano; he concentrated more and more on the way Hazard was doing the trumpet work. It may have been the gin; something had him fixed up so that he was playing constantly right up to the place where genius and madness grapple before going their separate ways. It was Hazard’s night. Even ten years later, when he knew what he was talking about, Rick said that he’d never afterward heard Hazard himself or anybody else play a horn the way Hazard played that night.
There wasn’t much more
When it was over, Jeff said, ‘Anyhow you didn’t go soft while you’ve been away.’ Smoke didn’t hear him; he was talking to George Ward, and so Jeff said to Rick, ‘If that horse would get off the dime and get him a decent set of traps there wouldn’t be a better man in the business.’
‘I know,’ said Rick.
‘But he can’t ever seem to get organized,’ Jeff went on. ‘He’s all the time sticking around home playing ball with the kids on the street, or else just hanging around home talking to his folks, or else just hanging around town. He never stays on a job more than a week.’
He sat there hitting chords and scowling at the keyboard while he talked. ‘I sure do wish something would get him jarred loose. Every time I hear him play it gets me sort of sore he won’t do anything about it. Seems like he won’t grow up and get onto himself.’
This was the first time it had ever been given to Rick to know the pleasure of confidential talk, and it had him glowing. He looked at Jeff and made answer; Smoke, he said, at least had music on his mind all the time; he knew that from working with him.
‘Then he’s working,’ Jeff said. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Well, not exactly a regular job,’ Rick said. ‘He helps out at Gandy’s where I work. The pool hall.’
Jeff looked at him again and said: ‘That must be where I’ve seen you, I guess. All night I been trying to think where.’
‘It’s not such a very good job,’ Rick said, ‘but I’m trying to make enough money to get a trumpet, now I haven’t got a piano any more.’
‘I don’t see why you couldn’t use this piano, if you want to,’ Jeff said. ‘I’ve got a key to the hall and there’s never anybody here in the day. I bet nobody’s ever here before five.’
Rick said he couldn’t do that and put everybody to such a lot of trouble and everything. But after that he said a thing that he had no intention of saying. He said, ‘You don’t ever give piano lessons, do you, like a piano teacher?’
The four in front were playing alone, trying things out, and letting Jeff and Rick talk. Ward stood over his drums, watching Smoke play them.
‘No,’ Jeff said. ‘I couldn’t teach piano. I taught my brother a thing or two, but he’d have learned it anyhow.’
He stopped a minute, thinking about it and then he said, ‘But I guess I could show you some things about it, if you’d like me to.’
‘I’d pay whatever you charge,’ Rick said in the big way he had.
‘I wouldn’t want to do that,’ Jeff said. ‘I couldn’t teach you anything, just show you how it goes, if you’d like me to.’
‘Well, I’d sure appreciate it,’ Rick said. It sounded pretty lame; all the social courtesy had got away from him.
Somebody looked around and Jeff said, ‘Play that thing you were just playing again; sounded good.’
And Smoke said a thing that was hard to say; he said, ‘Take your drums,’ and got up from Ward’s chair. ‘Don’t you want to play them any more?’ Ward said, but he said it in a way that cut off all possibility of an affirmative reply. Then Jeff gave them the beat and they played again, and then again and again. Rick stayed right there on the piano bench beside Jeff, but he didn’t limit his ear to Jeff’s piano; he concentrated more and more on the way Hazard was doing the trumpet work. It may have been the gin; something had him fixed up so that he was playing constantly right up to the place where genius and madness grapple before going their separate ways. It was Hazard’s night. Even ten years later, when he knew what he was talking about, Rick said that he’d never afterward heard Hazard himself or anybody else play a horn the way Hazard played that night.
There wasn’t much more
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