A PROSPECTIVE VISIT
Doris brought out the crumpled letter written by the Misses Gates which
she had thrust carelessly into her pocket, and handed it to her uncle.
Adjusting his glasses, he read it through and then sat thoughtfully
stroking his hair.
“What do you think of it?” Doris demanded.
“Very strange indeed. But just how do you think this letter will help to
solve your financial problems?”
“Why, I thought perhaps I am to inherit some money.”
Wardell Force folded the letter and returned it to his niece.
“I hope for your sake that you are right, but I would advise you not to
build up your hopes.”
“Don’t you think I should go?”
“I scarcely know what to say, Doris. I recall that years ago your mother
had an older brother who for some reason or other left home to travel. He
was a young man at that time. To the best of my knowledge he was never
heard of again.”
“How queer!”
“Yes, as I remember, the members of the family were unwilling to talk of
the matter.”
“He didn’t leave because of some disgrace?”
“Not as far as anyone knew. His leave-taking was shrouded in mystery.”
“I never knew I had such an interesting relative!” Doris declared. “The
Misses Gates must know more than that about him and I’m curious to learn
what they may have to tell me. I wish I could go to Rumson and visit them
this summer. May I?”
“You really think you would enjoy it?”
“Perhaps not, but it would be something to do. And then, of course there
_is_ a possibility that I am to inherit money. If only Kitty were going
along, I know I’d have fun.”
“But I don’t know anything about these women you are invited to visit,
Doris.”
“Oh, they must be nice,” Doris urged. “You can almost tell by their
handwriting—it’s so refined.”
Uncle Ward smiled. When his niece’s mind was made up, he seldom could
hold out against her.
“Very well,” he gave in reluctantly. “I suppose I must say you may go.
Mind, I don’t feel entirely easy about it.”
“Rumson isn’t very far away, Uncle Ward, and nothing could happen to me.
Besides, Dave lives out that way, and he can sort of keep an eye on me.”
“I don’t doubt but that he will do that, all right,” Mr. Force grunted.
“I suspect he is your real reason for this trip.”
“Honestly, I never thought of that at first.”
“All right, run along.” He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Won’t you
be late for your music lesson?”
Guiltily, Doris snatched up a roll of music she had dropped on the table
and dashed into the bedroom for her hat. With a hasty kiss dropped on the
top of her uncle’s head, she dashed for the door and clattered down the
stairs two at a time.
Reaching the street, she ran all the way to the corner and there swung
upon the rear end of a street car just as it was starting. Breathlessly,
she dropped into the nearest seat and looked at her wrist watch.
“Ten minutes to four,” she told herself. “If this old car isn’t too poky,
I’ll make it on time yet.”
Doris seldom was late for her vocal lessons, for her interest in music
was genuine, and she realized that it was a privilege to be a student of
the famed Herr Von Heflinger who accepted only the most promising pupils.
On more than one occasion, Doris had become a trifle discouraged, for Von
Heflinger was strict and offered criticism more freely than praise.
On this afternoon she reached the studio just as the clock was striking
four and so avoided the displeasure of the master. Always blunt, he
offered only a few words of greeting and seated himself at the piano,
quickly arranging the music. Striking a few chords, he selected a
difficult piece and bade Doris sing.
Somewhat disturbed by Von Heflinger’s austere manner, she began a trifle
shakily, but before she had sung a dozen notes, she found herself. Soon
she had forgotten her accompanist, had forgotten everything save the
song. She sang brilliantly and with more feeling than ever before. Von
Heflinger caught the spirit and his hands moved quickly over the
keyboard, now running arpeggios, now crashing in loud chords or falling
so softly that the tones were scarcely audible.
The last note of the song died away, and the master turned to Doris with
an expression she had never seen on his face before.
“Ah, Miss Force,” he said, “you have the divine spark! You will go far!
This summer you must study hard your French and German—and perhaps, who
knows, you shall yet be presented in Grand Opera!”
Doris scarcely could believe her own ears, for she knew her teacher was
not given to idle praise. Grand Opera! How she longed to become famous!
She could almost see herself on the stage, taking her curtain calls,
making her bows, accepting the flowers.
She was brought back to reality by hearing her teacher repeat, more
sternly:
“This summer you must work—study hard your languages.”
The lesson went on, and at five o’clock Doris left the studio, still
somewhat dazed at the thought of what might be ahead of her.
“I will work,” she told herself as she walked slowly toward the street
car. “I’ll work night and day!”
Doris had always been one to make the most of her opportunities, and from
childhood she had determined upon a career. Her sweet bell-like soprano
voice had been inherited from her mother, but only training and diligent
practice had developed its full power and volume. Doris’s ability and her
willingness to help others had made her much in demand as a singer at
teas, parties and entertainments.
Many girls would have been satisfied with such popularity, but not Doris
Force. From the very start she had set her heart upon reaching the
highest rung in the ladder.
“I must study my German and my French this summer,” she told herself,
“and I really can’t do much by myself. I should have a teacher.”
This brought a cloud to her face, for she remembered the discussion she
had just had with her uncle.
“Money!” she thought impatiently. “I need it so badly, and I don’t see
where it is coming from unless it turns out that I am to inherit it from
my Uncle John Trent.”