Kitabı oku: «Dorothy's Triumph», sayfa 10
Meanwhile, below, Mr. Ronald, Sharley and the assistant engineer, were going over every inch of the gasoline motors, hoping to find what had been the cause of their sudden refusal to do their work.
Screws were tightened and several other minor matters remedied. Then Sharley signaled the pilot house that he was going to try her again. Having tested his batteries with the buzzer, and adjusted the timer, he turned on the gasoline and slowly opened the throttle.
There was no response.
Sharley repeated the operation several times without getting the desired explosion. Then he retested the batteries with the buzzer and adjusted the carburetor, discovering that the gasoline had not been turned on at that point – or, at least, had been turned off after the trouble started. More cranking followed, but without success.
The Nautilus was now drifting in toward the shore, and a peep through a porthole told Sharley that he would be upon the sands of Rockaway if something were not done soon.
“Told you she ought to have a sail equipment for emergencies,” he said to Mr. Ronald.
“Yes; you told me – that’s not your fault. The question now is, what are we going to do?”
“Nothing that I can see but throw out our anchor. Ain’t more than twenty feet of water here, and she’s growing less all the time.”
“But I can’t throw out the anchor without alarming the ladies.”
“Have to alarm ’em, then, I guess. That’s better than going aground and paying somebody salvage to get you off, eh, Mr. Ronald?” and the engineer laughed.
Mr. Ronald admitted the force of the statement, then went on deck to break the news to his guests.
CHAPTER XIV
THE STORM
Mr. Ronald’s appearance on deck was the signal for a jubilant shout from Dorothy, Molly and Jim.
“Now we’ll be off again in a jiffy!” Molly cried. “I can see it in Mr. Ronald’s face.”
“Which only goes to show that looks are really deceiving,” returned the owner of the yacht, good-naturedly.
“What!” cried Dorothy, while Molly gave vent to a disappointed, “Oh!”
“Do you mean that the engineer hasn’t yet got to the seat of the trouble?” queried Dr. Sterling.
“I regret to say that his efforts are not meeting with the success we had hoped for, and as we are slowly drifting in toward the beach, with only a few feet of water under our keel, we shall be forced to drop anchor, pending further developments in the engine-room.”
“That means that the trouble is serious,” groaned Aunt Betty.
“Not necessarily,” said Judge Breckenridge, in an encouraging tone, “but if we run aground we will be ‘suah ’nuff’ in trouble, as old Ephraim would say.”
“The trouble is merely temporary, I assure you,” Mr. Ronald went on. “If you will excuse me again, I’ll order the anchor dropped. Then we can at least make our minds easy as to where we will stay until the trouble is located.”
The others nodded their assent and he hurried forward. A moment later, with a rattling of chains, the anchor plunged into the waters of the bay.
Mr. Ronald then rejoined his guests, and in spite of the anxiety that was surging in Dorothy’s breast, she entered into the spirit of the occasion with the others. Story and jest rang out over the water as the sun gradually approached the horizon.
It was after six when Sharley came on deck to say that the trouble was as elusive as ever.
“We’ve been over every inch of her,” he said, “and can’t find a thing the matter. Yet, she won’t budge an inch. The gasoline supply is O. K., and the batteries are in good shape. There’s no trouble at all about exploding the spark, but I can’t get the engine to turn a wheel, sir.”
Mr. Ronald cast an uneasy glance toward the eastern sky, where a heavy bank of clouds was appearing above the sky-line. The rapidity with which they were approaching seemed to indicate that a storm was brewing. He said nothing of this to his guests, though, but smilingly remarked that he would go below again to go over the matter another time with Sharley. Then owner and engineer disappeared below decks together.
Anxiously those on deck awaited some report from the engine-room; but the minutes slipped by and none came.
Finally, Dorothy noticed the approaching storm, and gave vent to a startled exclamation, which, caused Aunt Betty to jump, and Molly to grab her chum nervously by the arm.
“What is it?” Aunt Betty wanted to know.
Dorothy extended her finger toward the formidable looking bank of clouds.
“A storm is coming,” she replied, “and if we don’t hurry and fix the engines we shall be caught in it.”
As if in answer to Dorothy’s remark, Mr. Ronald appeared on deck at this instant. His face wore a troubled expression and the hopes of the guests fell as they noticed it.
“It’s of no use; we can’t find the trouble,” he said. “Looks very like we were in a trap and destined to quite a stay.”
The wind had already commenced to blow. The Nautilus had swung around bow on to the east and was tugging viciously at her anchor.
“If some other boat would only come by and pick us up!” cried Aunt Betty. “Why, we may have to stay out here all night.”
“What of it?” queried Judge Breckenridge.
“Why, Dorothy will be in no shape for the concert to-morrow night – that’s what of it. And Herr and Frau Deichenberg will be worried over our continued absence.”
“The cabin of the yacht will afford comfortable sleeping quarters for you ladies,” said Mr. Ronald. “I regret this occurrence, but now that we are here, with no prospect for getting away under several hours, we must make the best of a bad bargain.”
“Let me suggest that we all go inside,” said Dr. Sterling. “The wind is getting too cool for you, Mrs. Calvert.”
“I suppose that’s an insinuation against my age,” returned the person addressed, with some spirit. “But I’ll forgive you, doctor; we had best look the facts in the face.”
She arose as she spoke, and taking Jim’s arm, walked slowly toward the cabin. The others followed.
No sooner were they inside than the storm descended with a roar. Sheets of water, wind-driven, beat against the windows of the cabin, and the yacht rose on top of great waves to plunge down into the trough of the sea with a motion that gave Aunt Betty a sinking feeling.
“It’s like going down in an elevator,” she confided to Dorothy. “I just know I’m going to be seasick.”
“You will if you think about it every minute,” said Dr. Sterling. “Get your mind on something else and you will be all right.”
“Easier said than done, doctor.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Now, that reminds me of a story,” and he went on to relate a certain incident of his career which took the thoughts of seasickness and storm away from Aunt Betty’s mind.
It soon grew so dark it became necessary to switch on the electric lights. Then, while the yacht rolled and tossed on the heavy waves, Mr. Ronald and his guests entertained themselves as best they could.
Through the windows a glare marked the location of the city, though no objects were visible on the ink-black surface of the water. As Dorothy looked longingly out into the darkness she wondered what Herr Deichenberg and Mr. Ludlow would be thinking by this time.
Knowing she had gone out on the yacht, and that a storm had descended on both bay and city, they would be worried, no doubt, and there was no means of communicating with them to allay their fears until the yacht was able to pull up anchor and steam into the city by her own motive power. And this seemed unlikely to happen soon, for no word of encouragement had come from the engine-room, though Engineer Sharley and his assistant were still making a diligent search for the trouble.
Fortunately the larder of the Nautilus was well-stocked with food, and Mr. Ronald, with the help of one of the deck hands, was able to serve a very satisfactory lunch to the storm-bound, hungry guests.
Steaming coffee was made on a little electric range, and this, with rolls, canned salmon, and bread and butter, served to satisfy the appetites of all.
“How nice and cozy this would be,” said Molly, as they were gathered about the table, “if it were not storming so hard, and Dorothy was not worried as to when she is to reach the city.”
“Why, pshaw! there’s nothing to worry over,” said Jim. “The storm won’t last forever, and I’m sure if the engines are not fixed by morning, Mr. Ronald will signal for a tow to pull us into the city.”
“That will be the only thing to do,” said the yachtsman. “But the trouble will be remedied before morning, I am sure.”
At ten o’clock the storm had abated to some extent, though the rain was still beating in sheets against the cabin windows. The wind, however, seemed to have lost its great velocity, and the yacht did not toss as badly.
Under these comforting circumstances the girls and Aunt Betty retired to the staterooms of the yacht, where they threw themselves in the bunks thoroughly dressed, resolved to get what rest they could.
In the cabin the men smoked and told stories, while Jim sat near, an interested listener. At midnight the boy curled up on a seat built against the side of the cabin and went to sleep. Judge Breckenridge was nodding in a big Morris chair, so Dr. Sterling and Mr. Ronald left them and went to the engine-room, where Sharley and his assistant were still laboring faithfully at the machinery.
“Well, we’ve got it located,” said the grimy engineer, smiling good-naturedly. “The trouble is on this end of the propeller shaft. A piece of metal is lodged between the cogs, and we’ve been unable so far to get it out. It’s only a question of time, though. Bill is hammering away with a cold chisel and something is bound to give ’way soon.”
“Can we run into the city in the storm, Sharley, or will it be better to wait till it clears?”
“Well, it’s pretty misty out, and hard to see the lights of other boats, but we’ll chance it if you say so, sir.”
“I’ll think it over. Let me know when the engine is fixed and we’ll decide what is best to do. Come, Sterling; let’s go on deck for a breath of air.”
Donning heavy ulsters, they were soon on the slippery deck of the yacht, the storm beating in their faces. The man in the wheelhouse, encased in heavy oilskins, was nodding in the shelter of his little quarters. He started up as Mr. Ronald and his friend came slipping along the deck.
“A bad night, sir, but the storm’s going down,” he remarked, pleasantly.
“The engines will soon be fixed, Donnelly, and if it’s let up sufficiently we may try to make the city at once. Otherwise we will wait till daylight.”
“Yes, sir; all right, sir,” and the man bowed as Mr. Ronald and Dr. Sterling passed on.
In the meantime, Dorothy and Molly lay in their bunks, talking on various subjects, but mostly of the coming concert. Dorothy, of course, was worried, and was trying to borrow trouble by declaring the storm would keep up all the following day, and that she might be forced to miss the concert altogether – an idea which Molly “pooh-poohed” in vigorous terms.
“I’m surprised at you, Dorothy Calvert,” she said. “You’re not a quitter. Nothing in the world will keep you from being at the theater to-morrow night, and you will play as you have never played before. Difficulties will but serve to spur you on to greater deeds.”
“You’re right, chum,” Dorothy replied. “That is a well-deserved rebuke and I thank you for it. Which reminds me that my fears were groundless, for the wind is going down and it does not seem to be raining as hard as it was.”
“Of course not, you goosey! These storms rarely last more than a few hours. The sun will be shining in the morning, and all you’ll see to remind you of to-night will be the rather worn looks of your companions. But what is one night’s loss of sleep, anyway? I just know when you were at school you lost many a good night’s sleep through some prank. Now, didn’t you?”
“That would be telling tales out of school,” smiled Dorothy.
“An evasion means an assent,” remarked her chum. “And the next evening you were feeling as well as ever – just as a nice, warm bath and a rub-down will make you forget your troubles of to-night.”
And Molly was a true prophet. The storm went down rapidly after midnight, until there was only a slight mist falling, and the wind came in fitful little gusts, which lacked the force to do damage even of a slight nature.
After one o’clock, with the cheering intelligence that the engines would soon be in working order, called to them through the stateroom door by Dr. Sterling, the girls fell asleep, to be awakened some hours later by the motion of the boat.
“Oh, look, Molly!” Dorothy cried, shaking her chum out of a sound sleep. “The yacht is under way.”
“Didn’t I tell you so?” was the rather discomforting reply, as Molly sat up, rubbing her eyes. “First thing we know we’ll be back at the hotel.”
“We’ll have to reach the dock first, though.”
“Thanks for the information,” said Molly, as she began to arrange her hair.
The sun was streaming in through the port-holes and the water without was as smooth as glass. The yacht was headed toward the city, and moving along at a steady pace, though not at full speed.
The girls smoothed out their crumpled dresses, gave several other touches to their attire, and after a vigorous use of powder rags, taken from their hand-satchels, they aroused Aunt Betty and together went into the cabin, thence to the deck.
“Good morning!” greeted Judge Breckenridge, who, seated near the rail amidships, was smoking an early morning cigar in the keenest enjoyment.
“It is good morning, sure enough!” cried Dorothy, drawing her lungs full of the pure, sweet air. “And I’m so glad. I hope we reach the city soon, for Herr Deichenberg and Mr. Ludlow will be worried to death over my absence.”
“In half an hour we’ll be at the wharf,” said Mr. Ronald, who approached at this moment. “I trust you rested well?”
This remark was directed principally toward Aunt Betty, who replied:
“I didn’t hear a sound all night long. The last noise I heard was the chatter of the two young magpies who occupied the berths across from me, but no misfortune, no matter how dire or dreadful, could bridle their tongues, so that was to be expected.”
“That sounds very much like a libel to me,” said Dorothy, laughing.
“Well, you’re my niece, and I can libel you if I wish,” was the spirited response.
“But Molly isn’t your niece, auntie.”
“Never mind; she insists on keeping company with you. Under those circumstances she must expect to take home to herself most of the things I say about you.”
“I’m not worried,” said Molly. “I suppose we are all you say we are, and more, Mrs. Calvert.”
“That’s a charitable view to take of it,” said Dr. Sterling.
The engines were working so well that before they realized it the Nautilus was lying snugly moored to her wharf in the North River.
Mr. Ronald’s guests bade him good-by and left the boat, after making him promise to be at Dorothy’s concert in the evening.
At the hotel, early as was the hour, Dorothy found Herr Deichenberg and Mr. Ludlow in conference over her continued absence.
“My goodness! My goodness!” cried the music master. “Would you drive us crazy, Miss Dorothy, that you stay avay all night and make us believe you are lost in the storm?”
“I did not make you believe anything, Herr Deichenberg. You took that upon yourself. And perhaps I was lost in the storm, sir,” replied the girl, then extended her hand to Mr. Ludlow.
“I forgive you, Miss Calvert, and trust you have not so impaired your faculties that your work will fall below its usual standard to-night,” said the manager.
“I have not, I assure you. We were very comfortable in the berths, and put in some good time sleeping between midnight and morning. Molly will tell you that we have no reason for feeling badly.”
“Indeed, no, and Dorothy will be in perfect trim, Mr. Ludlow.”
“Your assurance makes my mind perfectly easy,” was his reply.
“But vhy didn’t you let us know?” Herr Deichenberg asked excitedly. “Vhy? Vhy?”
“Because the yacht was not equipped with a wireless apparatus, I suppose,” Jim Barlow put in, rather testily. “She has done the best she knew how, sir, and that’s all anyone can do.”
“Truly spoken, my boy,” replied the Herr, laying a kindly hand on his shoulder. “You must not mind me; I am a little nervous – dat iss all.”
“The nervousness will pass away now the truant has returned,” Aunt Betty assured him.
Frau Deichenberg, who approached at that moment, nodded, smiling:
“Ah, madame, dat iss true. You must not mind him. He iss like dat vhenever anyt’ing goes wrong. But he means not’ing – not’ing!” She extended her hand. “I am glad to see you safely back.”
Assuring Mr. Ludlow that she would be on hand in the evening without fail, and promising to see him during the afternoon if he called, Dorothy went up to her room, where a hot bath and a nap of several hours’ duration put her in excellent physical trim for the ordeal that night – for an ordeal she knew it was to be – an ordeal that would be the making or the breaking of her career.
CHAPTER XV
DOROTHY’S TRIUMPH
At last the hour was approaching when Dorothy would make her appearance before a metropolitan audience. As evening drew near she felt a nervous sensation, mingled with a faint suspicion of nausea, and wondered at it. Upon the occasion of her appearance in Baltimore not even a tremor of excitement had possessed her; yet, the very thought of appearing in the glare of the footlights in this great New York theater gave her an almost uncontrollable desire to fly away – anywhere – away from the people of this city whose opinions seemed to mean so much to the followers of music and the drama.
Arriving at the theater early, just as she had on the occasion of her appearance in her home city, Dorothy again peeped through a small hole in the curtain, to find the great gold-and-green auditorium a perfect blaze of light.
To her right, in the stage box, sat Aunt Betty, Molly, the Judge, Frau Deichenberg, Mr. Ronald and Jim Barlow chatting gayly, and awaiting the time when the curtain should rise for Dorothy’s opening number.
The murmur of many voices reached the girl, as she looked. It was an audience of taste and culture. Mr. Ludlow had seen to that. His affairs were looked upon by music lovers as distinctly out of the ordinary, hence the better class of people attended them – even sought eagerly for seats.
By the time Herr Deichenberg appeared on the stage to flash the orchestra a signal for the overture, the house was packed almost to the doors. People were even standing three deep in the back, apparently in the best of humor and seeming not to mind in the least the discomforts attending “standing room only.”
Dorothy sought her dressing-room, a great lump in her throat, and taking her violin from the case, nervously thumbed the strings. It was so unusual – this feeling of helplessness – the feeling that she was but an unimportant atom in this great sea of people who were waiting for her to appear that they might subject her to scathing criticism.
Herr Deichenberg smiled in at the door a moment later.
“Und how iss my little lady?” he inquired.
“Oh, Herr, I have such a strange sensation. It seems as if my heart is going to stop beating.”
“Ah, ha! You t’ink so, but it iss not so, Miss Dorothy. De heart has changed its place of residence – dat iss all. It is now lodged in de mouth, vhere it vill stay until you get before de audience und realize dat you vill have to play. Den it vill leave you.”
“If I could only be sure!”
“Vhat I tell you iss true. I have been there, many iss de time. You vill find dat de audience vill be your inspiration.”
Shortly after, when the orchestra was in the last bars of the overture, the music master hurried Dorothy out of her dressing-room to her place in the wings. The sinking feeling grew more intense. She could not get her mind off the ordeal which was before her. If she had only agreed not to come, she argued with herself, she might have saved her reputation. But now the merciless critics of the metropolis would subject her to comparisons with greater and more famous artists, and she would surely be the loser thereby. Strange she had not thought of that before!
She was startled out of her meditation by Herr Deichenberg, who cried:
“Ready, now, young lady! Look your prettiest! Valk out as you did before, und forget there iss an audience. Take your time und vait till de orchestra iss t’rough with de introduction.”
She nodded, her lower lip trembling visibly. Then, with a sudden shake of her head, she forced a smile and stepped out into view of the audience!
And as those staid old New Yorkers saw this slim, young girl advancing, violin in hand, toward the footlights, while the great orchestra roared and thundered through the introduction to Rubenstein’s “Barcarole,” they burst into a round of applause. And Dorothy, surprised at the reception thus accorded her, when she had expected nothing but silence and curious stares, all but stopped in the center of the stage and forgot what she was doing.
Then, realizing that the orchestra was rapidly approaching the place where she was to begin playing, she had the presence of mind to bow and smile. And just back of the footlights, with the faces of her auditors but a blurred spot on her vision, the girl put her violin under her chin and gently drew the bow across the strings.
As the orchestra played a low accompaniment, there suddenly filled the air a sound of deep melody, which swept down the aisles and filled with melodious sweetness every corner of the big theater. It was a melody such as sets the heart beating – a melody full of the most witchingly sweet low notes.
Dorothy swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the music, and the audience listened spellbound. To Aunt Betty and the other attentive auditors it seemed that all the world was music – that, as played by this young girl, it was the greatest and best of all earthly things.
As she played on, by, as it seemed to her, some strange miracle, all her fears and tremblings vanished. Herr Deichenberg had been right, and now her only thought was for her work – how best to do it to the satisfaction of those who had honored her with their presence.
When it was finished and she had bowed herself off into the first entrance, applause such as she had never heard before, thundered through the building. Out she stepped and bowed, but still the plaudits continued, and finally, walking out, she signified with a nod of her head her willingness to respond with an encore.
She played a simple little piece far removed from the great Rubenstein melody, and it went straight to the hearts of the audience, as Herr Deichenberg, keen old musician that he was had intended that it should. From that moment Dorothy Calvert had her audience with her heart and soul.
As she swept into the concluding bars of the melody, the audience fairly rose to its feet and applauded. She took seven bows before the curtain was allowed to descend. The first part of the entertainment was over and Dorothy sought her dressing-room to rest, closing and locking the door so that no one might intrude on her privacy.
There she lay, eyes half-closed, breathing rather heavily, more from excitement than from actual physical exertion, while the popular tenor whom Mr. Ludlow had engaged to assist in the concert was singing a song from “Lucia.” She heard his encore but faintly – enough, however, to recognize one of the solos from a popular comic opera, then someone rapped on her door and bade her be ready for her second turn.
Words fail to describe the reception she met as she played Schubert’s Sonata, followed by the march from “Lenore,” the latter seeming to strike the chord of popular approval in a very forcible manner.
She bowed herself off again, after taking ten curtain calls, to give the tenor another chance. Again she rested in her dressing-room, and again ventured forth for the last, and to her most difficult, part of the entertainment.
Two of the classics she played, then, upon insistent calls from the audience for more, nodded to the orchestra and struck into her old medley of southern airs. As the plaintive notes of “The Old Folks At Home” echoed and reëchoed through the theater, Dorothy watched the effect on her audience, and saw that many handkerchiefs were used as the sadder strains were played. “Old Black Joe” produced much the same effect, and “Dixie” aroused them to cheers which increased as the girl played “The Star Bangled Banner” and, finally, “Home, Sweet Home.”
Again and again the curtain descended, only to rise again, as the girl bowed her acknowledgments to the great audience that had received her with such marked expressions of approval. Then, to her dressing-room she went, to find that Aunt Betty and her friends had reached the stage through an entrance back of their box, and were awaiting her.
“Oh, auntie, auntie!” was all she could say, as she threw herself into the arms of her aged relative and sobbed through sheer joy.
“My dear, it is the triumph of your life. I am indeed proud to call you my own.”
“And she wasn’t one tiny bit scared,” said Molly.
“Shows you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dorothy replied, with some spirit. “Herr Deichenberg had all he could do to induce me to leave my dressing-room. Let the announcement sound as absurd as it may, I was literally scared to death.”
“If you can play like that when you’re literally scared to death,” said Molly, “I wish someone would scare me.”
“Here’s Mr. Ludlow,” said Jim. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”
“Mr. Ludlow is about the happiest man in New York to-night,” said the manager, “realizing, as he does, that he has discovered, with the aid of Herr Deichenberg, a young lady who is destined to set the whole country afire with her playing. Miss Calvert, I congratulate you most heartily. It was the finest thing of its kind I have ever heard in my long theatrical experience.”
Dorothy choked up and could not speak as she took his hand.
“Don’t try to thank me,” he went on, observing her embarrassment. “It is I who should thank you. And now, I know you are anxious to return to your hotel. I shall see you in the morning before you leave for home and discuss with you our future plans.”
It was not until the early hours of the morning that Dorothy Calvert wooed sleep successfully, and when she did, she dreamed of violins, music masters, stages and scenery – all inextricably mixed.
She arose early, however, as they were to catch a train for Baltimore during the forenoon. Jim Barlow came into the room occupied by Dorothy and Aunt Betty as soon as they had dressed, bringing the morning papers. The music critics were almost unanimous in pronouncing the young violinist a player of exceptional merit, and one destined to become a great force in the musical world.
Dorothy hastened to show the papers to Aunt Betty and Molly, who, of course, were greatly rejoiced over her success.
Mr. Ludlow called as he had promised, and when he took his departure Dorothy had put her signature to a contract, calling for a forty weeks’ tour of the United States and Canada, starting the last week in September. And the contract called for a salary of $200 per week and expenses. Those interested in our heroine’s welfare may learn as to the outcome in the next volume named “Dorothy’s Tour.”
Dorothy could hardly believe her good fortune; nor could Aunt Betty, whose resources were so low that the only thing in prospect was a mortgage on her beloved Bellvieu.
The fact that Aunt Betty was in such sore financial straits became known by accident to Dorothy after they had returned home. But once the girl was familiar with conditions, she showed what a loyal niece she could be by depositing in one of the Baltimore banks the money she had received for her concert, subject to Aunt Betty’s order. Then, in company with Aunt Betty, she called upon the lawyers who had the Calvert estate in charge, and by explaining her prospects for the coming season, and exhibiting her contract with Mr. Ludlow, arranged for such funds as she and Aunt Betty might need between then and the end of September.
Thus was old Bellvieu saved to those who loved her most.
It was a happy summer to Dorothy, though she kept up her work under the direction of Herr Deichenberg, gradually growing to be a more polished artist.
As the fall drew near she became very eager, particularly when Mr. Ludlow wrote that he had provided a private car that Aunt Betty might go with her upon her long journey over the continent.
So here, with her triumph achieved, and greater triumphs and trials as well before her, we will leave Dorothy prepared to take up her adventurous tour.
