Kitabı oku: «Dorothy's Triumph», sayfa 8
It was a beautiful piece of music, well played, and when Dorothy had finished and again bowed herself off the stage, the storm of applause broke forth again. Under Herr Deichenberg’s direction she took three bows in succession, only to find the applause, if anything, more pronounced.
She looked at the music master for her cue. He smilingly said:
“Vell, dey seem to like it. You may play another.”
Again he signaled the orchestra, and once more Dorothy Calvert went tripping out on the stage, gratitude surging in her heart toward that great audience which had been so kind as to express approval of her work.
This time it was a medley of old Southern airs she played. The audience sat spellbound while the strains of “Old Black Joe,” and “Old Folks at Home” were heard throughout the auditorium, and when Dorothy swung into the quick measures of her beloved “Dixie,” such a roar shook the building as Aunt Betty had never heard before.
Again Dorothy bowed herself off into the first entrance. Again and again she was sent forth to bow her acknowledgments – to bow again and again until she was forced to throw up her hands in token of the fact that she had exhausted her repertoire.
The applause extended well into the beginning of the next number, and the young lady who was to perform on the piano after Dorothy, refused to go on the stage until the young violinist had taken another bow.
Then followed the appearance of Herr Deichenberg, whose reception was easily the greatest of the evening. Dorothy did not wait to hear her music master play, but hurried off to her dressing-room with her violin, her heart singing a song of gladness.
“Thus it is,” she thought, “that success takes hold of our sensibilities, and in the same way does failure serve to discourage one, and put enthusiasm at a low ebb.”
In her dressing-room she sat and heard the thunders of applause that followed the Herr’s playing. Then, after a short wait, when the audience was quiet, the Herr appeared suddenly at the door of her dressing-room. With him was a smartly-dressed stranger who bowed and extended his hand in a cordial way as the old German said:
“Miss Calvert, allow me to introduce Mr. Ludlow, de theatrical manager from New York. He happened to be in de theater during your performance, and he hastened back to talk over with you a few matters of importance. I vill leave him with you.”
The Herr disappeared, and after inviting Mr. Ludlow to have a seat, Dorothy reseated herself and turned expectantly toward him.
“I know you are wondering what I have to say to you, Miss Calvert, so I will come at once to the point. Being in the theatrical business, I am naturally on the lookout for talent along various lines. I have been vividly impressed with your playing to-night and I felt that I should not care to let the opportunity go by to inquire into your future plans.”
This was put partly in the form of a question and the girl responded:
“Do you mean, Mr. Ludlow, that you would like to offer me an engagement?”
“That I shall, perhaps, be able to determine when I learn your plans.”
“Well, I have none. My lessons are not over with Herr Deichenberg. I shall be under his instruction until next spring, at least.”
“And after that?”
“Oh, I cannot say. Before talking over arrangements with you, I should like to discuss the matter with my aunt, Mrs. Calvert.”
“That will be agreeable to me, I am sure.”
“But she is out in front. I shall be unable to see her until the concert is over.”
“To-morrow will do, Miss Calvert. I merely wish to-night to make sure you do not sign a contract with another manager without giving me a chance.”
“Oh, I can safely promise that.”
“Then I shall be content. Where can I see you to-morrow?”
“We shall be very glad to have you call at Bellvieu.”
“Bellvieu, Miss Calvert?”
“Yes; our home in the suburbs. I had forgotten you were not a native Baltimorean.”
“At what time will it be convenient for me to call?”
“Either in the morning or afternoon.”
“Shall we say ten o’clock, then?”
“Yes.”
“I trust I shall not inconvenience your aunt by calling so early.”
“Not at all.”
“It is imperative that I catch a train for New York at twelve.”
Mr. Ludlow took his leave, after expressing his pleasure at having met Dorothy.
The girl’s feelings would be hard to describe. That her playing should have awakened the interest of a professional manager was to her rather astonishing.
She was meditating over the offer, and wondering what her prim and staid Aunt Betty would think of it, when Frau Deichenberg entered the dressing-room. The Frau had been on the stage looking after several of the Herr’s protégés, and was highly elated over the showing they had made.
“My dear, my dear,” she cried. “You have done nobly! Herr Deichenberg is pleased with you beyond measure.”
To which Dorothy responded:
“If I have deserved his praise, I am glad. But it seems that I have done so little.”
“Ah, but did you not hear de audience? Dey liked your moosic, und dey clap their hands und stamp their feet. Dat iss de one true mark of appreciation.”
When the concert was over and Dorothy was traveling homeward in the barouche with Aunt Betty, she told her of the visit of Mr. Ludlow. Aunt Betty listened patiently until she had finished, then said:
“Dear, I had supposed I was raising you up to something better than a stage career.”
“But, auntie, the stage is all right – it must be, there are so many fine people connected with it. And then, it would be the concert stage in my case, and that is different from dramatic work, you know.”
“Yes; but violinists, as well as other performers, sometimes listen to the call of the dollar, and go from the concert to the variety stage. I am not sure such connections would be the best for my little girl.”
“But, Aunt Betty, it is my life’s ambition,” said the girl, a queer little catch in her voice.
“There, there,” Aunt Betty responded, as she put her arm about the shoulder of her great-niece. “Don’t take what I say so much to heart. We will think this matter over, and you may be very sure of one thing, dear – we shall do what is right and for the best.”
And with this for the time being Dorothy was forced to be content.
The matter was put in abeyance for an indefinite time, however, by a message from Mr. Ludlow, the following morning, in which he said he had been called back to New York earlier than he had expected, but that he would not forget the girl, and upon his next visit to Baltimore during the course of the fall or winter, he would arrange to call and settle matters to Dorothy’s entire satisfaction.
“And who knows, by then I may have won Aunt Betty over,” muttered the girl, who, however, decided to drop the subject until the opportune moment arrived to discuss it.
CHAPTER XI
CHRISTMAS AT BELLVIEU
The fall days slipped rapidly by, and still Dorothy continued to take instruction from Herr Deichenberg, improving her technique with each lesson under the old music master’s careful guidance. The concert had been a revelation to her. For the first time in her life she had stood before a great assemblage and heard the roars of applause which her playing aroused, and it had given her confidence as nothing else could.
Aunt Betty’s deep-rooted prejudice against a stage career was the only thing that served to mar the girl’s pleasure, and even this caused no great unhappiness, for Aunt Betty’s refusal to allow Dorothy to play professional engagements took the form only of feeble protests. This led the girl to hope her relative might gradually be won over.
Then, as the holidays approached, bringing a letter from Molly in which she stated that she and the Judge would arrive at Bellvieu several days before Christmas, the stage career was for the time relegated to the innermost recesses of her mind, and she joined Aunt Betty in an effort to have a real, old-fashioned Christmas. This, with the aid of Ephraim, Dinah and Chloe, they were fortunately able to do. As the preparations went forward, Aunt Betty’s delight knew no bounds, and her soul was filled with rapturousness as joy after joy unfolded itself to relieve the tedium and monotony of her old age.
A week before the eventful day, Ephraim and Metty, with two other negroes, hired for the occasion, took a team and sleigh and set out for the timber along the shore of the bay. There had been a heavy fall of snow the night before and the ground was covered with a sparkling mantle, while an invigorating breeze from the north filled everyone with energetic desires.
Once at their destination Ephraim and his men felled a large black gum tree from which two logs were cut. These were just short of four feet in length and cut with the especial purpose of filling the two large fire-places in the Calvert mansion.
Returning late in the evening with their load, they rolled the big logs into the duck pond back of the barn, where the crust of ice was thin, there to soak until Christmas morning, at which time they would be placed in their respective fire-places in the big dining and living-rooms of the house, and a fire kindled.
Ephraim was thoroughly familiar with the old custom, and it was understood between him and Aunt Betty that he should keep good fires burning during the day and banked during the night after bed time. Logs such as these would, by this process, last ten days, or until the holidays had come and gone, for they were burned until not a vestige remained but ashes.
During the latter part of November Aunt Betty had caused a half dozen of her finest turkeys to be put up to fatten. Some days later several huge pound cakes had been baked and a nice little pig put in the pen to grow round and tender, later to be roasted whole, with a tempting red apple in his mouth. Mincemeat, souse, and stuffed sausages, those edibles of the early days, which Aunt Betty had grown to love and yearn for, were provided on this occasion by Chloe and Dinah, and when, a few days before Christmas, Metty returned from the woods with a fine, fat possum, the mistress of Bellvieu began to feel that her Christmas would be indeed complete.
A store of sweet potatoes had been laid by, and green apple, pumpkin, potato and other pies made and stored in the cellar.
In the days of Aunt Betty’s girlhood, when there were no cooking stoves, turkeys were cooked in a turkey roaster made of sheet iron, with a dripping-pan in the bottom and a large tin lid, much resembling a buggy top, over the pan. When Mr. Turkey was stuffed and otherwise prepared for the feast, he was spitted on an iron rod that passed through the sides of the roaster and on through his body from end to end. Then he was ready for the finishing touches over a red-hot fire. The roasters had legs at each corner, so that hot embers could be placed under it when necessary. The tin top reflected the heat and had hinges so that it could be turned back when the cook basted the turkey with a prepared sauce. The dripping-pan at the bottom served to catch and hold the rich gravy.
As Aunt Betty stood now, watching the preparations for the roasting of one of the turkeys, her thoughts traveled back to those other days, and she marveled at the progress of civilization.
“Lawsee, Mis’ Betty!” cried Chloe, as she stopped to wipe her hands on her gingham apron. “We’s gwine tuh hab ’nuff food in dis yere house tuh feed er million people, looks like tuh me.”
Aunt Betty laughed.
“Better too much than not enough,” she observed. “I reckon there won’t be much left by the time New Year’s Day has come and gone. Gerald and Aurora Blank will be over for Christmas dinner, and will drop in for occasional meals during holiday week. Then, with Miss Molly and her father, and Herr and Frau Deichenberg, there will be a nice little party here at home. Those boys, Jim and Len, have appetites that will startle you. Oh, yes; we have lots to eat, Chloe, but – well, you just watch it disappear!”
“Yas’m; we’ll watch hit, all right, en I reckon, Mis’ Betty, dat Ephy, Dinah en me’ll sort o’ help it disappear, too!”
Chloe, bending nearly double, guffawed loudly at her own joke.
Aunt Betty smiled, too, then went to the front of the house to meet the carriage which had been sent to the train, with Dorothy and Jim in it, to meet Judge Breckenridge and Molly.
Dorothy’s chum waved her hand at Aunt Betty, then came hurrying up the walk, to be the first to greet the mistress of Bellvieu. Then came the Judge, cane in hand, assisted by Jim, looking much better, but still somewhat enfeebled in health.
“I’m glad indeed to see you again, Judge Breckenridge,” greeted Aunt Betty, as she clasped one of his hands in both her own. “I am particularly pleased to be able to welcome you to a Christmas at Bellvieu.”
“And I am more than pleased to be here,” was the Judge’s response. “I am sure it will be one of the most delightful trips of my life.”
Once inside, and ensconced in easy chairs in the living-room, Aunt Betty pressed him for news concerning his sister, Lucretia, as well as Mrs. Hungerford, Mrs. Stark and Mrs. Cook, not forgetting to ask if the Judge ever heard from Joel Snackenberg. These questions answered to her entire satisfaction, Aunt Betty excused herself to see to the preparing of the mid-day meal, leaving Jim to talk to the Judge.
“I haven’t seen you in a long time, my boy,” said Molly’s father, “but it seems to me you are growing into a fine, strong young man. Molly tells me you’ve left Dr. Sterling for good.”
“Yes, sir; I thought I’d better strike out for myself.”
“And what do you intend doing, if I may ask?”
“I intend learning electricity, sir – in fact, it is on Dr. Sterling’s advice that I do so. Aunt Betty through some of her friends here, has arranged to secure me a place the first of the year. I have been idle during the past few months waiting for this position to materialize, and I’m certainly glad it is coming out all right.”
“You will have to serve an apprenticeship, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, electricity is a good thing to know, Jim. I wish you every success. Hello – who is this?”
The Judge’s eyes were turned toward a lad who entered the room at that moment. It was Len Haley, attired in a brand new Christmas suit, and looking as spick and span as one could wish.
“Oh, I’d forgotten you didn’t know Len, sir. Surely you’ve heard Molly speak of Len Haley, sir? He’s the boy we rescued from a cruel uncle on our camping trip last summer. Aunt Betty has had him under her wing ever since. This is Molly’s father, Len.”
“Yes, yes,” said the Judge. “So this is Len Haley, the boy who was lost in the woods in the dead of night?” The judge reached out and took Len’s hand. “I am glad to know you, my boy, and to learn that you have found such a fortunate way around your troubles.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Anyone whom Mrs. Betty Calvert stands sponsor for is surely to be envied.”
“I think so too, sir,” said Len, beginning to thaw out under Judge Breckenridge’s good-natured smile.
When Dorothy and Molly came downstairs and joined them, they made a merry party. Molly had changed her traveling dress for a clean frock, and with her hair arranged prettily in the latest mode, made even Jim Barlow “sit up and take notice.” As for the Judge and his gayety, if old in years, he was young in heart, and forgot his infirmities to such an extent that Aunt Betty, entering suddenly, threw up her hands in amazement.
“I knew this trip would make a wonderful improvement in you, Judge,” said she, “but had no idea the change would be effected in so rapid a manner.”
“I just can’t help it, Mrs. Calvert. To see these young folks about me makes me feel young again, which reminds me that I have never been happier than when I once took the boys and girls on a jaunt through the Nova Scotia woods.”
“A jaunt that ended in my giving a house party at Deerhurst,” said Dorothy. “That was after I had learned that I was not a homeless waif, but the great-niece of Mrs. Betty Calvert.”
“It was papa, if you remember, who ran down the clues leading to the discovery that Mrs. Calvert was your relative,” said Molly.
“And I’ll never forget how overjoyed we all were when we knew to whom our girl friend was related,” and the old Judge leaned over and stroked Dorothy’s hand as he spoke.
“Then came my humiliation,” said Aunt Betty in a reminiscent tone. “I was forced to admit to you all that when my nephew’s baby came I was indignant, feeling that I was too old to have a squalling infant forced upon me. Then, better thoughts prevailing, I saw in Dorothy traces of my own family likeness and wanted to keep her. Then I listened to Dinah and Ephraim, and finally took their advice to hunt up a worthy couple unburdened with children of their own, and force the child upon them to be reared in simple, sensible ways. When I found that you had discovered the relationship between us, I did only what my heart had been bidding me do for many years – took Dorothy to my bosom, and into my household where she belonged.”
Dinah came to the door to say that lunch was served, and the party filed into the dining-room to continue the discussion at the table.
On the following morning – the day before Christmas – a great bundle of presents arrived from one of the Baltimore department stores, and was taken upstairs by Ephraim, there to be concealed.
On the night before Christmas, following the time-honored custom, stockings of every size and color were strung up around the big fire-place in the living-room. Those of the Judge, Jim and Len not being large enough, garments of a satisfactory size were generously tendered by Dorothy and Molly. Going late to bed, hoping that old Santa Claus would be good to each of them, the young folks awoke in the morning to find their stockings fairly bulging with good things.
There was a cane and a pocketbook from the Judge to Jim, and wearing apparel running from neckties to shirts from Aunt Betty and the girls. Len came in for a similar lot of presents, his gift from the Judge being a shining five-dollar gold piece, which he declared should go in the savings bank as a foundation of his fortune.
Dorothy and Molly were well remembered, the gifts being both pretty and useful, and running principally to toilet articles and lingerie, while Aunt Betty found great difficulty in lifting her stocking from its peg over the fire-place, so heavy was it.
Early Christmas morning came a belated ’phone message from Herr Deichenberg, accepting on the part of him and Frau Deichenberg, the kind invitation extended by Aunt Betty to gather around the festive Christmas board. It had been necessary to postpone two lessons, the music master said, which accounted for the delay in letting them know.
At ten o’clock Gerald and Aurora arrived. There had been a slight protest on the part of Mr. and Mrs. Blank at the children being away from home for Christmas dinner, but a compromise had been effected by which they were to eat with their parents on New Year’s Day.
With the arrival of Herr and Frau Deichenberg nothing then remained but to serve the dinner. Metty and Ephraim were both pressed into service, and with Chloe and Dinah working like Trojans in the kitchen, the meal was served on scheduled time, and to the entire satisfaction of everyone concerned.
Tale and jest passed around the table, as the members of the Christmas party made merry.
“Christmas comes but once a year,” some one has said, and with this in their minds, trouble was given its conge for the time being, and mirth and gayety reigned supreme.
Herr Deichenberg was asked to tell of the old German customs at Christmas time, which he did in an interesting way. He told of the toymakers of Nuremberg and other cities, and how easily and dexterously they did their work. Then there were many humorous incidents of his own boyhood, which he remembered and told with such success, that he had the entire party roaring with laughter before the meal was half over.
When he had finished, the Judge and Aunt Betty took turns telling of strange and funny incidents that had come under their observation at various Christmas times, and by the time dessert was reached everyone felt at peace with the world.
It was a dinner long to be remembered, and when it was over they all gathered in the living-room, where the Herr was induced to play a number of his favorite pieces, Dorothy’s violin being pressed into service for the occasion.
Dorothy next took her turn with the violin, Herr Deichenberg playing her accompaniments on the piano. Molly, who had not heard her chum play for many months, was astonished at the progress she had made, as was the Judge, and they complimented both master and pupil, after three pieces had been rendered. The players then stopped under protest, promising to play more before the gathering broke up.
Jim sang a bass solo. Gerald also rendered a song, his sweet tenor voice delighting his auditors, after which the old quartette of the mountain camp was formed again and sang familiar pieces in such a manner as to win the heartiest of commendation from all – even that captious critic, Herr Deichenberg.
Aunt Betty was asked to speak one of her girlhood pieces, but begged to be allowed to substitute old Ephraim, who, upon being urged, recited the following verses, remembered since his earliest recollection:
“Sho’ ’nuff, is dat yo’, buddie?
Why, I sca’ce beliebs mah eyes!
Yo’s growed so slendah en so tall,
I like not tuh know yo’ size.
Does yo’ eber hunt de possum —
Climb de ole p’simmon tree?
Like we did in de good ole times
W’en de niggah wasn’t free?
We’d take ole Tige, en den a torch,
Den we’d start out fo’ a spree,
Lots o’ fellers wuz in dat chase,
Erside, mah boy, frum yo’ en me,
After a w’ile ole Tige’d yelp,
Den we’d know dar’s sumpthin’ round,
Er rabbit, coon, er possum, sho’,
Er gittin’ ober de ground.
W’en up de tree de possum run,
Den ole Tige he’d change he tune,
Den wif de torch we’d shine his eyes
Den we’d nab him pretty soon,
We’d break he neck, en build er fire
Den a tater roast, yo’ mind;
Why, bress yo’ heart, dis make me cry,
Nebber mo’ dem times yo’ find.
De Massa’s gone – ole Missus, gone,
En mah ole woman am, too;
I’m laid up now wif rheumatiz,
En mah days am growin’ few.
Ole Tige mos’ blind en crippled up,
So dat he can’t hunt no mo’;
No possums now tuh grease de chops,
Oh, I’s feelin’ mighty po’!”
As Ephraim concluded he made a most elaborate bow, touching his hand to his forelock – or where the forelock should have been.
The old negro’s interested listeners burst into loud applause, and the bow was repeated again and again. The verses had been rendered with considerable feeling and some sense of their poetic value, which, of course, Ephraim had learned from hearing the verses recited by others.
Len Haley, upon being called on for a contribution to the entertainment, spoke the first – and last – piece he had learned during the few short months he had attended school. It was a temperance piece, and if not thoroughly in keeping with the festive occasion, was at least one of the most earnest efforts of the afternoon.
Aurora, who was an elocutionist of no mean merit, rendered Longfellow’s “Hiawatha,” with such realistic touches that Herr Deichenberg sat spellbound through her recital, to spring up and grasp her hand when she had finished.
“My dear girl,” he cried, “dat was excellent – excellent. I am proud, indeed, to know you.”
“I trust you will never have occasion to change your mind,” was the girl’s pleasant response.
The entertainment over, Herr Deichenberg and Judge Breckenridge engaged in a checker contest, which was so closely fought that the others stopped whatever they were doing to look on. The Herr was finally triumphant, taking four games out of seven.
When the Christmas party broke up that evening, all were agreed that it had been one of the most glorious holiday times they had ever spent.
