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Sutphen, Van Tassel, 1861-1945

"The Gates of Chance"

I couldn't swear to it
exactly."
"That will do, Bolder," said Indiman, and our witness retired
abashed.
"Check number one," commented Indiman. "Suppose we try the Grand
Central now. We won't take out the carriage; the day is fine and I
want the walk."
It was a beautiful morning in August, cool and clear, and we strode
along briskly. A hand-organ began playing in a side street, and we
stopped to listen. "It's the same aria," I said, excitedly--
"'Celeste Aida.' What tremendous luck! No, it isn't; deuce take
it!" I went on, dejectedly.
"But you just said it was the same," persisted Indiman.
"With a difference," I hastened to explain. Now, Indiman is not
musical, and I had some trouble in convincing him that within the
compass of a semitone a veritable gulf may yawn. This particular
organ played the phrase in the third bar correctly--F sharp and not
F natural--and consequently it could not be the same instrument
that had vexed my ears half an hour ago at No. 4020 Madison Avenue.
"There is a real difference, then?" said Indiman, thoughtfully.
"One that you would recognize again?"
"At any place or time," I answered, confidently. "It is an absolute
means of identification, quite as much so as a glass eye would be
in a man's face.


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