Absorbed

On board the liner Paris in mid-ocean last week, Ignace Jan Paderewski was giving a concert while the ship bounced on the stormy sea like a pea on a reverberating drumhead. Waves pounded her forefoot with a sodden, heavy impact; the wind found a flute to blow in every cranny; passengers in the saloon struggled to keep their chairs from skidding together. Paderewski played on. Suddenly three great seas in succession struck the tottering vessel; she shivered, climbed a wave, and jerked to starboard with a lurch that spilled the gathering in the salon out of their seats. Ladies and gentlemen writhed in one another's arms, clawed at one another's clothing, groped, swore, sputtered, struggled for a foothold--and all the while the fainting nuances of the world's greatest pianist floated out over their bedlam. Paderewski had heard nothing, felt nothing. Absorbed in his music, he played on.