But he was himself an ardent
vocal amateur, and to keep Royce Melvin alive and able to give forth her
songs to the world was a special satisfaction to his soul. Moreover, he
knew enough of Banneker's story to take pride in being partner in his
plan of deception and self-sacrifice. He pretended that it was a needed
holiday for him: his bills hardly defrayed the traveling expense.
Now, riding back with Banneker, he meditated a final opinion, and out of
that opinion came speech.
"Mr. Banneker, they ought to give you and me a special niche in the Hall
of Fame," he said.
A rather wan smile touched briefly Banneker's lips. "I believe that my
ambitions once reached even that far," he said.
The other reflected upon the implied tragedy of a life, so young, for
which ambition was already in the past tense, as he added:
"In the musical section. We've got our share in the nearest thing to
great music that has been produced in the America of our time. You and
I. Principally you."
Banneker made a quick gesture of denial.
"I don't know what you owe to Camilla Van Arsdale, but you've paid the
debt. There won't be much more to pay, Banneker."
Banneker looked up sharply.
"No." The visitor shook his graying head. "We've performed as near a
miracle as it is given to poor human power to perform.
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