PART SIX
Near the parlor grand was an upright piano with the name WAYNE B. ALLEN lettered above the keyboard in gold Victorian script, a gift to Mr. Allen from some long-defunct piano company.

Another piano nearby, richly carved and beautifully tuned, held a hand-lettered card that outlined the piano's history and listed the price: $1000.

That price seemed to represent the epitome of big money to Mr. Allen. He showed me the model of a double-action hammer for pianos that he had invented.

"And I sold the patent," he announced proudly, "for a thousand dollars."

Another story about a thousand dollars concerned Blind Boone.

"After I became Boone's manager, we traveled together to Chicago where Boone was to audition for a piano roll company. When we arrived we learned that the company had hired a man from California. I left Boone downstairs and I went up where all the men were gathered and I said, 'I don't care who you've hired, I have a man with me who can outplay anyone in the world.' So they said, 'Prove it,' and I said, 'All right,' and I wrote out a check to that company for a thousand dollars. Then I said, 'If this man can't do everything I've claimed, this check is yours.' So I brought up Boone and they brought in this man from California who had the longest fingers I've ever seen. A crowd had gathered by that time and the tension was running high. The Californian played first, for half-an-hour, his own composition, and he played well. When he finished at last, Boone applauded warmly, then walked unassisted over to a second piano which no one had told him about but which he had located from hearing the overtones. Without even sitting down he said, 'That was very good. This is the part I liked best,' and he whipped through the middle section without a flaw. That room went wild. The Californian shook my hand and said, 'My God, I'd go to hell and back for that man!' The next day Boone played the Marshfield Tornado for the rolls, but he went so fast and played so hard that he stripped the gears in the machine; so we came back to Missouri without a record of it, and now it's lost to the world."

Mr. Allen showed me other compositions by Boone, many of which Allen himself had published. From a cardboard box he lifted large sheets of music, yellow with age, bearing such titles as Rag Medley No. 1, Strains from the Alley, Rag Medley Number 2, Strains from the Flat Branch, Caprice de Concert, Love Feast Waltz. Boone's ragtime music was excellent. His serious compositions were also interesting, although some were florid showpieces, typical of that era, full of tremulous octaves and rolling arpeggios. One piece of music had Boone's picture on the cover. He was a fat man, nicely dressed, with long curly hair and a pleasant smile. His vest was decorated with medals and the fob of a large watch chain.

"That watch was his pride and joy," said Mr. Allen. "It had a diamond horseshoe on the back, and it chimed the time when you pushed a button. Boone used to let children play with it."

"When did you and Boone become friends?" I asked.

Mr. Allen grinned as he once more brought back the past.

"After Boone became famous, he performed all over America and was praised by Paderewski and Rachmaninoff. He played in tents for pioneers and in palaces for kings, touring all winter and then coming back here to Columbia for the summer months to rest. He grew to be quite wealthy and build a house here in town that is still standing, a funeral home now. He often gave money away, but exploitation made him angry. One day the owner of another music store here in town asked Boone to come by and try out his new pianos. Then he spread the word that Boone would be playing in his shop that afternoon. When Boone arrived, he found the place packed with customers whom the man had lured in. Boone was furious. He came down to my store, instead, and I locked the doors and let him play in peace. From that time on we were friends."