Kitabı oku: «Dorothy's Tour», sayfa 2
“Surely.”
“Oh, goody, goody. Be here at twelve o’clock. That will bring us back home in time for lunch at one o’clock.”
Alfy, who thought the previous ride had been to short altogether, exclaimed “Oh, I’m so, so, so glad. We can have another ride. Oh, Dorothy, I do just love automobiling, I really do.”
Frau Deichenberg came to the door just then and ushered the two girls into the cozy living-room where they laid aside their wraps. “Herr is in the studio,” murmured Frau. “He is awaiting you there, Miss Dorothy.”
“I’ll go right up,” answered Dorothy. “Now Frau Deichenberg, do not bother with Alfy at all. She can amuse herself till I finish.” With that Dorothy ascended the stairs and Frau, after excusing herself by saying she must tend dinner as they always had dinner at noon – Herr wanted it so – left Alfy alone.
Alfy roamed about the room and examined all kinds of curios, – queer baskets, curious vases, old fans and precious paintings and etchings. So quickly did the time pass that she never noticed Dorothy as she came into the room.
“Well, Alfy, all ready to go home?” chirped Dorothy from behind her.
“Well, well, I never knew you were through. When did you come into the room, just now?” asked Alfy.
“Yes, Alfy, just now, and if I’m not mistaken, there is Gerald tooting his horn outside – he must be hailing us,” remarked Dorothy. The girls quickly donned their coats, bid good-bye to Frau, and departed.
Dorothy exclaimed in delight, “Look, look, Alfy, its dear Aurora, she must have come too! Oh, you dear, dear girl, I am so glad to see you!” And Dorothy embraced her, fondly kissing her several times. “Alfy, this is Aurora Banks, Gerald’s sister. Aurora, you have heard me speak of Alfaretta many times, I am sure.”
“Oh, I am so glad to know you,” heartily responded Aurora, “Dorothy is always talking of you.”
“Well, Jim, now I know what the surprise is,” laughed Dorothy, “its Aurora.”
“Now, that’s all wrong,” warned Gerald, “altogether wrong.”
“No it isn’t, is it Jim?” remarked Dorothy.
“Well, yes and no,” tactfully put in Jim. “The real surprise is this, – Aunt Betty has ordered a luncheon for all of us, a farewell luncheon for you, Dorothy, and we are all invited; so let’s hurry home. I’m hungry for one.”
“And I – I am most near starved,” cried Alfy.
The young people reached home just as luncheon was ready, and my! what a luncheon it was; all declared there never was a finer.
CHAPTER IV.
IN NEW YORK
“Good-bye – good-bye – dear old Bellevieu,” sang Dorothy. “Good-bye all for a long, long time, for to-day has my career begun.”
Aunt Betty looked sadly at the dear old home and felt very loathe to part from it and its comforts.
Then all, Dorothy, Alfaretta, Jim and Aunt Betty, waved fond farewells to the faithful old force of servitors who stood lined up in the doorway.
“Oh, Jim, boy,” wailed Alfaretta, “we will soon be in New York and then I shall have to say good-bye to you for, goodness only knows how long it will be before I see you again.”
“That’s right, Alfy dear,” replied Jim, “always look for trouble. Just think of the good times we’ll all have in New York before Dorothy really starts to travel.”
“Well, I suppose I might have thought of that, but I didn’t,” answered Alfy.
“There is only a short drive now to the station,” added Aunt Betty, “and I think you could get our tickets, Jim. Take this money and get four tickets for New York on the noon train, I think we have plenty of time to catch it.”
“I am so sorry that Herr and Frau are not with us. I just hate to go without him. It hardly seems right, does it, Aunty,” asked Dorothy.
“You know, Dorothy, that Herr has a very bad cold, and such a cough, I am quite worried about him. He would have come in spite of all that but Frau would not let him. I think Frau Deichenberg did a wise thing in keeping him home,” replied Aunt Betty.
“Seems as if I am not going to have a very happy start,” lamented Dorothy. “I wanted Herr to hear me play and criticise.”
“Dorothy, girl, cheer up. That’s no way to be when you are about to start on a career,” sternly admonished Jim. “You have every reason to be happy.”
In the rush and excitement of getting the tickets and finding out just when and where the train came in, Dorothy forgot her sorrow. They all bid good-bye to Metty, who had driven them to the station and who drove away mourning to himself as he went, “Deedy, deedy. Lonesome, ve’y, ve’y lonesome will ole Bellevieu be wi’out de Misses and de li’le Misses dere.”
They were at last all seated on the train and quickly were speeding toward New York. Dorothy and Alfaretta were sitting together talking happily of the people in the car and of the passing, ever changing scenery. Aunt Betty and Jim were in the seat just in back of them. Suddenly the latter reached into his pocket and procured a letter, handing it to Aunt Betty to read, explaining he had written the Edison Co., of New York, and that that was their answer.
Aunt Betty carefully read the letter through and turning to Jim, asked, “What are you going to do about it, my boy?”
“That’s just what I would like to know,” answered Jim. “I always wanted to go to college, and have saved as much as I could, but I can’t quite see my way clear to go there yet. I have studied very hard all along and have learned a great deal about electricity. The books Mr. Winters left me have helped me very much, but I am very far behind in some subjects required for entrance to college. My languages are very poor as is my history, and I write a very poor hand.”
“Well, Jim,” answered Aunt Betty, “I am sure I do not know just what I would have you do in this case. The offer is for work in the – what department is it?”
“The position is in the department of installation as assistant to the superintendent. The company is a very desirable one to be in. I have heard that they are very fair and that one who works well stands good chances,” replied Jim.
“I think we had better talk this over with someone before you decide one way or the other,” added Aunt Betty. “Maybe Mr. Ludlow could tell us something of it.”
“I would have to live in New York,” remarked Jim, “and where I do not know.”
“I should see that you were well established in your new place before I left New York,” Aunt Betty said.
“You are always so good, Aunt Betty,” answered Jim. “The salary they have offered me is not very large, but is is twenty-five dollars a week.”
“Did Mr. Sterling have anything to do with trying to get you the place, Jim?” asked Aunt Betty.
“Yes and no,” responded Jim. “I used a letter from him for reference.”
“Well,” rejoined Aunt Betty, “I think we had better leave the matter open and not say anything more about it till we talk it over with Mr. Ludlow. Don’t say anything to the girls as yet for it will be quite a surprise for them.”
By this time the train was nearing New York and Dorothy asked Aunt Betty if they had not better get fixed up. Quickly gathering their things together, they left the train to find Mr. Ludlow waiting for them.
Mr. Ludlow expected to take Aunt Betty and Dorothy right to the Martha Washington, where they could stay till Dorothy was ready to start on her tour, but Jim presented a new problem for the Martha Washington was a hotel for ladies only and no men can stay there. So calling a couple of taxicabs, he hustled Dorothy, Aunt Betty and Alfaretta in one, and taking the other with Jim he ordered the man to drive to the Prince Arthur. They reached their destination very quickly and Mr. Ludlow arranged for rooms for all. Leaving them in the possession, so to speak, of a bell-boy, he departed, saying he would see them early in the morning for a little while to tell Dorothy briefly what she would have to do for the next few days.
The bell-boy conducted Alfaretta, Dorothy and Aunt Betty to the seventh floor, where, unlocking a door, he disclosed to them three very nice connecting rooms, and leaving them there he took Jim down the hall a few doors and showed him his room.
Once inside the room, Alfy murmured faintly three or four times, “Oh!”
“What’s the matter, Alfy?” asked Dorothy.
“I just can’t get used to elevators,” replied Alfy. “What nice rooms” – walking through them – “three rooms” – looking at them again – “two bedrooms – one parlor.”
“Two bedrooms and one sitting room,” corrected Dorothy. “You take the single bedroom, Aunt Betty, and Alfy and I can use the double one.”
Alfy picked up her things and took them to the smaller bedroom and taking off her hat and coat and hanging them in the closet, she started immediately to unpack. “What a lovely room ours is,” remarked Alfy, “it’s such a pretty pink and white.”
Aunt Betty took off her things and Dorothy insisted she go in the sitting room and stay there till they had unpacked everything.
Shortly they heard a knock at the door. Alfy ran to open it. It was Jim. Coming into the room, he said, “I have a nice little room, but as I finished unpacking my things I thought I would come in here and see how you were.”
“We are all settled now,” said Aunt Betty. “Dorothy and Alfy have been quite busy. But children, come now, we must all dress for dinner. When you are ready, Jim, come back here.”
Jim was ready in no time, so he went into Dorothy’s sitting room and waited there, reading a magazine. Very shortly the girls were ready and they all descended into the large dining room.
Alfy, clinging to Dorothy’s hand, said, “Oh, Dorothy dear, I am quite scared. What shall I do?”
“Do just as I do,” whispered the more experienced Dorothy, quietly leading Alfy into the room. Odd it is that those accustomed to hotel life are inapt to think of the trepidation of the novice or new comer.
The head waiter conducted them to a table in the corner, then handed them his bill of fare.
“What would you like to have?” Aunt Betty asked Alfaretta.
“Oh, dear, most anything suits me, just what I would like to have I can’t think. I want just what Dorothy orders,” answered Alfy.
“Well, Dorothy girl,” said Aunt Betty, turning to her, “what will it be?”
“I would like – oh, let me see. Can we have oysters, Aunt Betty?” asked Dorothy. “Then steak and baked potatoes. For salad just plain lettuce with French dressing.”
“Yes, that will do very nicely, dear, and we can have ice cream for dessert,” answered Aunt Betty, who gave the order to the waiter. Shortly after they were served and all voted that they were enjoying a delightful repast.
“What kind of ice cream would you like, Alfy?” asked Aunt Betty.
“Strawberry,” promptly answered Alfy, “it’s so nice and pink.” “Chocolate for me,” cried Dorothy. “And for me, too,” joined in Jim. “I think I shall have plain vanilla,” added Aunt Betty, laughing.
When dinner was over and a very pleasant meal it was, they all went up to Dorothy’s sitting room for a quiet evening.
“Oh, Dorothy and Aunt Betty, I had just the best dinner I have ever had. I must, I just must write it all to Ma Babcock, she will sure want to tell it at Liza Jane’s.” With that Alfy crossed the floor and entered her room where she wrote a long, long letter home telling her mother of the wonders of a New York hotel.
“Ting-ling-ling-ling,” bussed the telephone in the hall. Dorothy answered the call saying, “Hello. Oh! Why we are all up here. Where? Oh, yes, in the sitting room. Yes. Yes. Now? All right. Good-bye.” Turning to Aunt Betty, Dorothy said, “It’s Mr. Ludlow.”
“What did he want, dear?” asked Aunt Betty.
“He is coming right up here,” replied Dorothy. “There, that’s him now. Didn’t you hear a knock?” Opening the door she found Mr. Ludlow there. “Come in, Mr. Ludlow.”
Mr. Ludlow came in and deposited his gloves, cane and hat on a vacant space upon the table, then he sat down and turning to Dorothy said: “I suppose, little girl, you are very, very curious to know where you are going to play to-morrow – no, not to-morrow – the next day.”
“Yes, I am,” timidly responded Dorothy.
“Well, I am going to give you a treat. To-morrow I am going to ask Aunt Betty to take all you young folks to a matinee. I hope I have picked out a play that will suit you all. I have chosen ‘Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.’ I suppose you are quite familiar with the little heroine, Dorothy.”
“No, Mr. Ludlow, I am sorry to say I do not know her.”
“Oh dear, Dorothy didn’t I get you the book to read?” asked Aunt Betty.
“Yes, Aunt Betty,” answered Dorothy, “but Molly took it home with her. She wanted something to read on the cars.”
“Well, well, never mind, you will enjoy the play all the more for not having read the story. Here are the seats, Mrs. Calvert. And, Dorothy, I would like you to notice the naturalness of the characters in the play, and profit by it. Naturalness and ease mean a great deal for you, – self possession – poise, my dear.”
“What about the concert? Where is that? When? Here I am asking questions faster than you can answer them,” remarked Dorothy.
“In time, in time, my dear,” responded Mr. Ludlow. “Thursday I will call for you here and take you with me to Carnegie Hall, where, my dear, you will render two pieces. The rest of the concert has been arranged for, and the small part left for you will not scare you, but only help to get you used to playing before large audiences. Now, Dorothy child, what would you like to play? This time you can choose your own pieces.”
“I should like to play what Aunt Betty and Jim like best,” answered Dorothy; “they hear me play oftener than anyone else.”
“My choice is ‘Das Gude vom Lied,’ by Schuman,” replied Aunt Betty.
“And mine is ‘Rondo a capriccio,’ by Beethoven,” said Jim.
“All right, all right, they will suit exactly,” added Mr. Ludlow.
“Mr. Ludlow,” remarked Aunt Betty, “I would like to take up a few minutes of your time when you are finished with Dorothy.”
“I shall be through in just a few minutes, madam,” answered Mr. Ludlow.
“Do you want me to play again in New York?” questioned Dorothy.
“Yes, just once more, my dear,” answered Mr. Ludlow. “That is on Saturday night at the Hippodrome, at 8.15 p. m. It’s a benefit concert for the blind babies of New York. Many famous people are offering their talent. You do not mind playing there, do you? Your future plans we will discuss later, but that will be all for now. No – I shall have to know what you are going to play there. May I suggest that ‘Southern Medley’ you play so well, and one other piece, say Shubert’s ‘Serenade.’ Now have a good time to-morrow and be ready at one o’clock sharp, on Thursday.”
“What I wanted to say, Mr. Ludlow, was concerning Jim. He is thinking of taking a business proposition with the Edison Company as assistant in the department of installation,” added Aunt Betty.
“Why, really, Mrs. Calvert, I hardly know much about that line of business, but judging from hearsay I should say that Jim was very lucky indeed to get such an offer,” answered Mr. Ludlow. “Haven’t you any business friends in New York?”
“Why Mr. Ford, the railroad man might help,” announced Jim from his corner.
“By all means see Mr. Ford,” said Mr. Ludlow. “It’s getting very late and I must go.”
“I will be ready for you in time on Thursday. And thank you, oh so much, for the tickets for to-morrow,” replied Dorothy.
CHAPTER V.
THE CARNEGIE HALL CONCERT
“Oh, dear, what a lazy girl I am. Nine o’clock and I have not had breakfast. What day is it? Thursday, – and Mr. Ludlow coming here at one o’clock. I must hurry for I must practice some,” murmured Dorothy to herself.
“Dorothy girl, are you still in bed?” called Aunt Betty from the next room.
“I’ll be with you in just a minute, Aunty dear. I’m most ready. Oh, Alfy, please help me, – please,” called Dorothy.
“All right,” replied Alfy, “do you need me to do up the back of your dress?”
“Yes, and that’s all. I’m so late. I did want to write Frau this morning, too,” said Dorothy crossly. “Come, let’s go to breakfast.”
After breakfast Dorothy practiced and Aunt Betty and Alfaretta took a walk and visited some of the large stores where they did a little shopping, Aunt Betty buying the girls each a pair of long white gloves and an Irish-lawn collar at Altman’s.
Dorothy was all dressed and waiting for them when they got home. She had on a very simple white dress, one they had made, with just a touch of pink, a small pink bow, at the waist, and a pink hair ribbon. She had practiced the two compositions thoroughly and felt that she knew them perfectly. True, she did feel a slight bit nervous, but in her past experience when she had her violin in her hands she lost self-consciousness and became wrapped up in her music.
“Dorothy,” called Alfy, “we are home, and, see, Aunt Betty bought me these. They are so pretty and I always did want them. I’m so glad I have them. But you go to Aunt Betty, she has something for you.”
“You are a funny girl, Alf,” answered Dorothy. “You have been talking away and I haven’t any idea what you were trying to get at. Aunt Betty, where are you?”
“In the sitting room, dear,” answered Aunt Betty.
“What is Alfy talking about, Aunt Betty?” asked Dorothy, walking into the room.
“This and this,” replied Aunt Betty, holding up two packages. “These are for you, dear.”
Dorothy, taking the two packages and kissing her aunt, murmured: “You dear, dear Aunt Betty. I must see what’s inside.”
She carefully opened the first and exclaimed as she drew forth a long pair of white gloves, “Oh, goody, goody. Just what I have been longing for.” And then opening the second package she found it contained a very beautiful Irish crochetted collar. “Aunt Betty! You dear, dear Aunt Betty. Just think how fine this will look with my gray coat. Just like all the girls we see here in New York. You are the best aunt ever a girl had.”
Dorothy then gathered up her treasures and took them with her into the next room to put them away.
Aunt Betty went into Alfy’s room and said, “Alfy dear, if you will give me your coat I will help you sew the collar on it so you can wear it this afternoon.”
“Oh! that will be fine! I can wear it to the concert. And can I wear the red hair ribbon Ma Babcock bought me from Liza Jane’s?” said Alfy.
“Ting-a-ling. Ting-a-ling,” rang the telephone bell. Dorothy rushed across the room to answer it and found that Mr. Ludlow was waiting for her below in a taxicab.
“Good-bye, Aunt Betty, dear,” called Dorothy; then running into her Aunt’s room she kissed her several times. “You will all surely come. I do need you all there.”
“We’ll be there in plenty of time, Dorothy dear,” answered Aunt Betty. “Now run along girlie, and don’t forget your violin.”
“Here it is,” cried Alfy from the next room, “I’ll bring it to you.”
“You’re a dear, Alfy,” called Dorothy, who by this time was already in the hall.
Mr. Ludlow escorted Dorothy to the taxicab, getting in with her and, shutting the door, he directed the driver to go to Carnegie Hall.
“Well, Dorothy, child,” asked Mr. Ludlow, “is everything all right? You are not scared, are you? You just try to do your best and everything will be fine.”
“I’m not scared, I’m sure of that; but do you think the people will like me?” questioned Dorothy.
“Sure of that, my dear, sure of that. All you must do is just be your very own self,” laughed Mr. Ludlow. “But here we are and we must get out.”
The driver stopped the cab and they quickly descended and walked into the building.
“Now, Dorothy, I am going to show you around the place. Just follow me,” directed Mr. Ludlow.
Dorothy looked at the large room and the many chairs and said hesitatingly, “Will it be crowded?” – and when Mr. Ludlow said he hoped so, she sighed and murmured: “My, what a lot of people I shall have to please!” then she added softly to herself, “Jim, Alfy and Aunt Betty; they will surely be pleased and the rest will, too, if I can make them.”
Mr. Ludlow then led Dorothy to the stage and made her walk up and down and all over the place so that she would get familiar with it.
“Mr. Ludlow,” asked Dorothy, “where shall I stand?”
“Right about here,” answered Mr. Ludlow, walking to the front of the stage and a little to the left. “Don’t face directly front.”
“Is this right?” asked Dorothy, taking the position Mr. Ludlow requested.
“That will do, – that will do just right,” answered Mr. Ludlow. “Now come inside and I will take you to see some of the noted artists who are going to play or sing.” He led Dorothy in from the stage and through a long narrow passage which terminated in a large room where there were numerous chairs, tables and couches. Dorothy noticed three or four girls talking together in the center of the room but those in other groups all seemed to be older.
Mr. Ludlow walked over to the group in the center of the room and addressing a small, fair girl, said, “Good afternoon, Miss Boothington.”
The girl turned and seeing Mr. Ludlow, exclaimed, “Mr. Ludlow, I am so glad you are here. I did want you to hear my singing and criticize. You will, will you not?”
“Miss Boothington, that shall be as you please. But now let me present you to a little friend of mine. This,” remarked Mr. Ludlow, turning to Dorothy, “is Miss Dorothy Calvert, and Dorothy, this is my ward, Miss Ruth Boothington. Miss Boothington sings, and will be one of our companions on your trip.”
“I am so glad to meet you, Miss Calvert,” replied Miss Boothington.
“As we are to be so much together, please call me Dorothy if you will,” interrupted Dorothy.
“And you will call me Ruth,” Miss Boothington remarked. “I know we shall have some very fine times together. And you are a solo violinist?”
“Yes, I play the violin,” answered Dorothy. “Are you going to sing to-day?”
“Yes,” answered Ruth. “At least I am going to try to.”
“Here, here. That will never do, Miss Ruth. You should have said that you would sing. Of course you would sing,” remarked Mr. Ludlow. Turning to Dorothy, he said, “Well, Dorothy, I think I shall leave you here with Miss Boothington. I guess she can take care of you. I am going to the front and will sit with your Aunt Betty.”
With that Mr. Ludlow left the two girls and walked out and around front where he looked for Aunt Betty.
“Is this the place? My, ain’t it big!” exclaimed Alfy, as Aunt Betty and Jim followed her to the door.
“I have our tickets here,” remarked Jim, presenting them to the doorkeeper.
“I guess we shall have to go right in and get our seats,” added Aunt Betty. “Keep close to me, Alfy, and Jim, you see that Alfy doesn’t get lost.”
They were at last ushered into a large box on the right side of the house.
“My, what a lot of seats. Is there going to be people in all of them?” asked Alfy, leaning so far out of the box that she almost fell over the rail.
“Here! You sit still,” sharply corrected Jim. “And, Alfy, try to act like a young lady, not like a back-woods little girl. Sit still.”
Alfy reluctantly subsided and appeared to be rather angry. Aunt Betty, noticing this said, “Watch me, Alfy, and do as I do and you will be all right.”
“Good-afternoon, Mr. Ludlow,” said Jim, making room for him.
“Good-afternoon, all,” answered Mr. Ludlow, seating himself next Aunt Betty.
“Did you come to keep us company all the afternoon?” asked Aunt Betty. “Or did you just wish to hear Dorothy play?”
“I thought you wouldn’t mind if I sat with you,” replied Mr. Ludlow. “I have quite a few young friends who are to help entertain us this afternoon. I do hope you shall enjoy them.”
Ruth had, in the meantime, presented Dorothy to the other girls in the group, and they all chattered gayly for a while.
Ruth glanced at her watch, and drawing Dorothy aside, said, “Let’s sit down quietly for a few minutes, and say nothing at all. It always helps to calm you and give you self-possession.”
The girls walked to a far end of the room and sat down, keeping silent for several minutes.
Then Ruth broke the silence by asking, “Where is your violin, Dorothy?”
“I guess it’s over there where we were standing before,” replied Dorothy, rising and making her way quickly to the spot. But no violin was visible.
“My!” exclaimed Ruth. “What did you do with it?”
“Oh,” lamented Dorothy, “I don’t know.”
“Where did you have it last?” questioned Ruth.
“I had it home in the hotel,” moaned Dorothy, most in tears. “I remember I did bring it. Alfy handed it to me and I took it in the taxi.”
“In the taxi? That’s where you left it, you foolish child,” interrupted Ruth.
“How, oh how, can I get it? I must have it. I have to play,” groaned Dorothy.
“Run! Run and telephone. Call up the New York Taxicab Company,” breathlessly exclaimed Ruth. “Oh, oh, Dorothy, I must go! I must! I just must, yet how can I leave you here – but I have got to sing now. Oh, I am all out of breath.”
“Stop talking, you dear girl, and go and sing your best so as to make them give you an encore, anything to gain more time for me. Now go!” And Dorothy kissed her and pushed her forward.
Running down the length of the room, she flew into a telephone booth, and hastily searching out the number called up Columbus 6,000.
“Hello, hello,” called Dorothy, frantically. “Hello! Is – has – a man come back with a violin in his taxicab – I must have it! I have to play! Yes. Yes. Yes. No. No. Good-bye.”
She hung up the receiver, and sat back despondently. The cab had not returned in which she had ridden to the hall.
“Oh, what shall I do! No violin and my turn to play next. What shall I do, oh, what shall I do?”
“Miss Calvert,” called the boy. “Your turn next.”
“Oh, dear,” moaned Dorothy, “see if you can borrow an instrument for me from one of the musicians in the orchestra.”
Just then a man rushed into the room carrying a violin under his arm. Dorothy ran up to him and fairly snatched the precious thing out of his arms, exclaiming, “I can play now. I can. I can! Oh, thank you, thank you! But I must go. Please come to the Prince Arthur to-night at 8.30 p. m. I will see you then.”
With that she dashed off, and trying to calm herself, walked upon the stage.
She carefully positioned herself just where Mr. Ludlow had told her to stand, and waiting for the introduction to be played by the orchestra, looked around the house, and discovering the box party, smiled at them gayly. When the last few bars of the music were played, gracefully placing her violin in position she commenced to draw her bow gently across the strings and produced clear, vibrant tones. Her body moved rhythmically, swaying back and forward in perfect accord with the music.
The audience listened spellbound, and when she had finished the whole house echoed with applause. She then walked slowly off the stage, only to be motioned back again to play an encore which she did with as much success as she had scored with her first piece.
When she turned from the stage the second time Ruth, who was waiting in the wings, whispered in her ear, “Dorothy dear, you did just splendidly, and you will surely be a great success. The people applauded you so very much I thought they would never stop.”
“Oh, I’m so glad. I do hope Mr. Ludlow liked it, and is satisfied with me,” murmured Dorothy.
“I can answer that, Dorothy,” said a voice in back of her that belonged to Mr. Ludlow, who had left the box just as Dorothy had finished playing and come to speak to them. “Both of you girls did very well indeed. Very well indeed. But come now with me and we’ll go around and sit in the box and listen to the rest of the concert. I want to hear it all.”
With that they traced their way back and soon were seated with the rest of the party. Dorothy told them all about how she had lost her violin and at the last minute recovering it vowed that she would be more careful of it in the future.
The little party was loud in its praises of Dorothy’s playing and Ruth’s singing, for Dorothy presented her new friend to them as soon as she could.
That evening they learned that it was the chauffeur of the taxicab who had found the violin in the auto before he had returned to the garage, and he had immediately started back for the hall with it, knowing it would be needed. Dorothy sent a letter of thanks and a reward, and Aunt Betty, learning the next day that he had a little boy with a broken leg in the hospital, sent a large basket of fruit for the young sufferer.
