"My dear child, what has happened?" Miss Pritchard cried as Elsie
relieved her of her wraps and bag, and she dropped weakly into a chair.
"I believe your dimples have actually doubled in size since morning.
It's positively uncanny, you know, anything like that. Suppose it
should go further?"
"Like the Cheshire cat's grin? Well--we should worry, Cousin Julia,
dearest. But--what do you think has happened, truly?"
"Your friend from Enderby hasn't appeared?"
"No, this is another sort of bliss. This is--well, dearest darling,
it's just that Mr. Coates has started me on something that--that I
could go on the stage with!"
Miss Pritchard's face fell. "Oh, Elsie, child, what do you mean?" she
asked anxiously. The dimples disappeared but though Elsie spoke
quietly, still there was that wonderful lilt in her voice.
"Just this. He called me into his office this morning and spoke to me
about--my specialty, you know, 'Elsie Marley, Honey.' One day back in
the fall I was showing off with that to some of the girls that were
eating their luncheon together, and he happened by and made me repeat
it. To-day he said he had had it in mind ever since, and had found
that he could adapt it and change the music and make it into a regular
vaudeville feature. He thinks it's a real crackerjack. He's going to
begin right away to give me training in it."
For a moment Miss Pritchard couldn't speak. Then she had to stifle
what started to be a groan. "Oh, my dear child!" she exclaimed.
"It seemed such a lovely ending to a lovely Christmas," said Elsie
wistfully. The girl was absolutely carried away by the excitement of
it. It didn't even occur to her--until she was in bed that night--what
the "ending" of the lovely Christmas was to have been--the ending that
alone was to justify her enjoyment of the holiday and of the days since
she had weighed her action in the balance and found it wanting.
"Oh, Cousin Julia, really when you understand, it's simply wonderful,"
she went on eagerly. "I'm the only one picked out thus far, and you
know most of the others are related to the profession, too. And even
if that thing is so old, I can't help liking it. Most of the things
_are_ rather awful, I must confess."
"But the first year--the first six months! I never dreamed of such a
thing!" Miss Pritchard cried.
"Neither did I, darling dear; that's what makes me so wild with joy,"
said the girl softly.
Touched and almost remorseful, Miss Pritchard kissed her fondly. But
she couldn't restrain a sigh.
"Surely it doesn't mean--going on the stage?" she inquired.
"Oh, no indeed, Cousin Julia, at least not right off. Only--well, just
being ready if anything should happen, you know."
Then suddenly at the thought of that wonderful eventuality, the girl's
dimples came out and her eyes so shone that Miss Pritchard felt as if
she should burst into tears. It seemed as if she couldn't bear it!
Again she lamented inwardly. Why should the child have had that crazy
desire for the stage? Why shouldn't it have been a passion for
music--for opera, indeed? Nearly every one who had heard Elsie sing on
Christmas Eve had spoken to Miss Pritchard of the girl's wonderful
voice, and the question of her cultivating that instead of working for
the stage; and Miss Pritchard had yesterday decided to make a fresh
plea to Elsie to that effect. What joy would it not be to share the
child's enthusiasm, had it been a matter of music!
However, it would be worse than futile to drag in any such thing at
this moment, she saw clearly. Carried away by her delight, Elsie would
have no ears and no heart for anything else. Miss Pritchard told
herself she must wait for the infatuation to cool--and when that might
be, she couldn't in the least foresee. Would it ever happen in truth?
As she couldn't possibly force herself to rejoice with Elsie, and
couldn't bear not to share in her joy, as they had come to share
everything, she suddenly proposed attending a concert that evening to
be given by a visiting orchestra from the Middle West. Elsie entered
into the plan with spirit, and they went off gayly together. Miss
Pritchard knew that Elsie was dreaming dreams to the strains of Bach
and Schumann, and wished with all her heart they were another sort of
vision; still, it was a happy evening for both where it had threatened
to be uncomfortable. But on the night when Elsie Moss had expected to
lie awake in agony because of the imminence of her parting with all she
loved most, she had only a brief moment of compunction, which she
dismissed easily, falling asleep in the midst of radiant and enchanting
visions of life on the stage. It was Miss Pritchard whose rest was
troubled.