HIGH HONOR.
That afternoon Dorothy devoted to practice, giving special attention
to the three pieces she was to play at the concert, two of which had
been given place on the program. The third was to be held in readiness
in case she needed to respond to an encore. Aunt Betty and Alfy
listened to her and expressed their approval. They were never limited
in their praise of her work, which always seemed to them beyond
criticism.
"Good-bye, for a while," called Dorothy, at the end of a stanza. "I
will only be gone a few minutes, I hope. Mr. Ludlow, in my letter of
instructions, told me to come to him at four o'clock. I have to play
over my selections to him so he can criticize them."
Dorothy walked slowly down the hall and knocked on the sitting room
door. In a moment, to her surprise, Mr. Dauntrey opened it.
"Good afternoon," said he. "Now, I shall have the pleasure of
listening to you play, I hope."
"Mr. Ludlow said that I was to come here at four o'clock. I think he
wants me to play my selections over for him," answered Dorothy.
"Yes, you are right," said Mr. Ludlow, from his large easy rocking
chair by the open window, which overlooked a court. "Yes. Stand over
there and start in at once."
Dorothy, thus enjoined, took up her violin and began playing. She
finished her first piece without any interruptions on the part of Mr.
Ludlow. She was about to start the second piece when he called to her
to stop.
"Play the introduction to that piece again and a little louder, also a
little firmer," he ordered.
She did as she was told.
"That's a little better," he said, when she had finished. "But I
should play the introduction still louder, so as to make a marked
contrast when the melody proper starts in, by playing that very
softly, like someone singing way off in the distance. And one more
thing; in the last part, when you have that staccato melody, play that
sharper. Now, try the piece all over again."
Dorothy answered, "Yes," and then played again, trying to do just as
Mr. Ludlow asked her to, and when she finished she stood still,
saying nothing, just waiting to hear what Mr. Ludlow would say. If she
expected a word of praise she was to be disappointed.
"Very well, try the next one," was all Mr. Ludlow said.
So the girl once more took up her violin, and filled the room with
melody. This time she played her piece, so she thought, very poorly,
in part, because of Mr. Dauntrey. She seemed to feel his eyes on her,
and it made her nervous.
"Very well," said Mr. Ludlow, much to her surprise. "That will be all
for this afternoon. And, Miss Dorothy, try not to get nervous or
excited to-night. I expect you to do your very best."
"I will try," smiled back Dorothy. "Good afternoon."
Just as she reached the door, she saw Ruth, who stepped back into the
shadow of the hall.
Ruth questioned, "Is he cross? And is Mr. Dauntrey there?"
"Mr. Ludlow isn't cross, but he's very business-like. And Mr. Dauntrey
is in there, and I wish he hadn't been," answered Dorothy.
"Oh, dear," exclaimed Ruth, "I just know he will be so cross with me,
for if Mr. Dauntrey is in there I just can't sing. He thinks I am a
wonderful singer, and I know that I'm not. Still, I hate to have him
think that I can't sing at all."
"You will do all right, dear," comforted Dorothy. "Just think you are
alone, and forget everything and everybody."
"Very well," answered Ruth, "and good-bye. I must go in and bear it,"
saying which she walked up to the door and knocked.
Dorothy walked down the hall toward her own rooms, then she turned,
took the elevator downstairs, and bought a postal, one showing a
picture of the capitol. This she took to her writing desk, addressed
it, and wrote just this, "Arrived safe. Visited the capitol this
morning. Will write later. With love, Dorothy."
She placed a stamp on it and mailed it, then hurried upstairs to her
room again.
"I am rather tired," she said to her aunt and Alfy, who were reading,
"I think I shall rest a few minutes before I dress for dinner. We need
to have dinner real early to-night, as we are expected to be at the
National Theater at 7.30 p. m. Mr. Ludlow is to give us each a
program, then, and tell us of any last orders he may have for us."
"Shall I get your things all out and have everything all ready for
you?" inquired Alfy.
"Yes, please."
"What dress do you want to wear?" asked Alfy.
"I think you had better wear the pink one, dear," suggested Mrs.
Calvert.
"Very well, the pink one, Alfy," called Dorothy.
"I will have all the things you need ready; shoes--I mean slippers,
stockings, handkerchiefs, and gloves," called back Alfy, as by this
time Dorothy had reached her room, and was preparing for her rest.
Both Mrs. Calvert and Alfaretta continued to read for quite some time,
and finally when she thought it was time for Alfy to get dressed, Aunt
Betty said:
"Alfy, I think you had better start to get dressed, now, and as you
are to lay out Dorothy's things for her, I do not think you will have
any too much time."
"Surely, Aunt Betty, I will begin at once. I was so interested in my
book that I forgot my duties," answered Alfy, and she started into the
next room and commenced getting Dorothy's things ready first.
When she had finished this task, she walked back into the sitting room
again and inquired, "Aunt Betty, I have finished getting Dorothy's
things ready. Will you please now tell me what you would like to have
me wear?"
"I think you might wear your little white dress, with the pretty blue
sash and ribbon of the same color, for your hair," answered Mrs.
Calvert. "And you might wear white shoes and stockings. We are merely
going to be part of the audience, to-night, so I hardly think we need
dress very much."
"All right," answered Alfy, cheerily, and started away again, humming
a little tune under her breath. She was pleased to think she could
wear her new white dress, with the pretty blue sash. And she thought
she would ask Dorothy to tie the blue ribbon around her hair, as
Dorothy always did such things so much daintier than she did. Still
singing, she started to dress in earnest.
It wasn't long before Dorothy awoke from her nap, and soon the two
girls were dressed and ready to help each other with the finishing
touches. Together they made short and quick work of this.
Mrs. Calvert looked up as they entered the room, and said, "Come here,
and kiss me, dears. You both look very sweet; very pretty, indeed."
"Do you and Alfy want to be audience again, while I play over my
pieces once more?" asked Dorothy. "I'm sure Mr. Ludlow didn't quite
like the way I played one of them this afternoon."
"Of course we do," answered Aunt Betty. "We will each sit down and
listen very attentively."
"I will play first the last piece on the program," announced Dorothy.
"Very well," said Mrs. Calvert, smiling encouragingly at the girl.
Dorothy gave careful attention to her work, and played one after the
other of the three selections through, pausing long enough between
each piece so that they might know she was about to begin the next.
The one Mr. Ludlow had taken exception to and criticised, that
afternoon, she played last, paying strict attention to the parts he
had indicated as needing correction.
When she had finished, she laid down her violin, and came and stood in
front of her aunt, questioning:
"Do you think I played them well enough? Did I do better than I did
this afternoon before I went in to see Mr. Ludlow, and did you notice
the difference in the playing of the last piece?"
"My, what a lot of questions," said Aunt Betty, laughing. "Now, to
answer them all: Yes, I do think you played much better just now than
you did before. And I think Mr. Ludlow's corrections in that last
piece improve it greatly. You see, he considers your work from the
viewpoint of the audience."
"I am glad you like the correction. I think it is better by far,
myself. But I just wanted to get your opinion on it before I was quite
satisfied," replied Dorothy. "I guess, to change the subject, that we
are all ready for dinner, so let's go down; maybe some of the others
are ready also."
They found that all of the party were already at dinner, so they
joined them in a quiet meal. Each seemed imbued with the
responsibility that rested on their shoulders.
Dorothy, leaving her aunt and Alfaretta to follow her to the theater,
started early with Ruth and Mr. Ludlow.
On the way to the theater, Mr. Ludlow said, "Just one final word of
instruction: Stand either a little to the right or a little to the
left of the centre of the stage; never just in the centre. It looks
better from the house side. And try not to get nervous. Mr. Dauntrey
will give you each a program. And now, I think you are all right."
Mr. Dauntrey, joining them on their arrival, gave each a program.
Dorothy noted that she was to be the third, and was quite pleased to
find that she came in the first half of the program. She always liked
to play and then go out and sit with her aunt and listen to the
remainder of the recital. The programs were beautifully printed in
gold and color, on a heavy white paper, on the cover of which was an
eagle. The sheets were tied together with a red, white and blue
ribbon. The contents read as follows:
PART I.
1. Songs--
"Ave Maria" Gounod
"La Palonia" Gradier
Miss Mary Robbia.
2. Piano Solo--
"Am Meer" Schubert
"Caprice Brilliant" Leybach
Mr. C. B. Carleton.
3. Violin Solo--
Adagio from "Moonlight Sonata" Beethoven
Meistersinger Wagner
Miss Dorothy Calvert.
4. Songs--
"Chanson de Florian" Godard
"Ah, That We Two Were a-Maying" Smith
Miss Ruth Boothington.
PART II.
5. Classical Dances--
"Hungarian Dance" Brahms
"Dance of the Sylphs" Berlioz
Miss Florence Winter.
6. Trio Songs--
"The Psalms" Faure
"Serenade" Schubert
"Song of the Toreador" Bizet
"Lost Chord" Sullivan
Rendered by Trio: Miss Dozzi, Mrs. Helmholz, Signor de Peiuzzi.
"Are you going out in front to sit with your aunt and Alfaretta, after
you have finished?" inquired Ruth, who was standing beside Dorothy.
"Yes, do you want to come out with me?" Dorothy asked.
"Yes. If I may," answered Ruth. "Will you wait here in the wings till
I have finished singing, and then we can go out together. I come right
after you on the program."
"I am anxious to see Miss Winter's dance," said Dorothy.
"And so am I, and to hear that trio sing," answered Ruth.
"Do you want to see the stage?" called Mr. Dauntrey. "Come now, if you
do. Mr. Ludlow wants you all to go and try it out; that is, I mean,
practice making an entrance."
The girls walked over in the direction in which Mr. Dauntrey led.
"Oh!" exclaimed Ruth, when the vista of the stage came into view.
"Isn't it pretty!"
"It is, indeed," acquiesced Dorothy.
The stage was a spacious one. To the right was placed the grand piano,
around which palms were artistically arranged. In the centre, and way
to the rear, as a background, hung a large American flag. On each side
of the flag ran a regular column of palms. Little plants and flowers
were on the stage in such profusion as to transform it into a
veritable fairyland.
"Wasn't that a nice idea to put the flag back there?" said Ruth.
"I think the stage decorations are very artistic, and I am sure with
such surroundings, everyone should do their very best," said Mr.
Dauntrey.
Just then they looked at the clock in the wings and saw that it was
8.15 p. m., the time announced to commence. They all walked off the
stage and back into the wings.
As the curtain arose, Miss Robbia advanced to do her part.
Just then Dorothy heard Mr. Ludlow say, "I think the President is
here."
"Oh, I hope he does come," answered Miss Ruth.
But Dorothy, as she went back to await her turn, was not quite so
sure. It seemed a serious thing to play before the greatest dignitary
in the land.
The first number at last was finished, then the second, then it was
Dorothy's turn. When she was on the stage, she looked out into the
audience and there, sure enough, in the large, beautifully decorated
box, sat the President and his party.
Surely the presence of such a notable guest should prompt her to do
her best. She wondered if the fact of his being there would make her
nervous. Then she thought of Jim and of what he would say, and then
once launched upon her theme, she forgot everything else. Her whole
soul, it seemed to the audience, was engulfed in her art. Never had
instrument fashioned by hand been more responsive to human touch.
When she had finished playing, she heard vaguely the applause, and
went out again before the curtain to bow her acknowledgment. Then a
large bunch of American beauty roses were handed to her. A very pretty
picture indeed did she make with the large bouquet of flowers in her
arms.
When the first half of the concert was over, Mr. Ludlow came back and
said: "The President would like Miss Ruth and Miss Dorothy to come to
his box; he would like to congratulate you both."
"Ah, that is pleasing, indeed," exclaimed Dorothy.
"Surely we are honored," added Ruth. They followed Mr. Ludlow out to
the President's box, where he and his family and a few friends sat.
When they reached the box, the President rose and said, smilingly:
"I want to congratulate you young people on your success. It has been
a great pleasure for me to hear you. Your playing, Miss Calvert, was
entrancing."
All the eyes of the audience were now turned on the presidential box,
and there was a craning of necks, trying to see what was going on
there.
The incident was soon over, the President had shaken hands with each,
and Dorothy at last found time to look at the card attached to her
roses. She imagined Aunt Betty had sent them to her. But she was very
much surprised and greatly pleased when she saw Jim's name on them,
and wondered how he could have sent them. She hugged them close to her
and kissed each pretty rose.
Just then Ruth came up and said, "I am ready now, dear, let's go out
in front. My! What beautiful flowers you have. Who sent them to you?"
"A friend," answered Dorothy, blushing.
"Wasn't _he_ thoughtful to remember to telegraph them here for you,"
laughed Ruth. "I wish I had a friend to send me beautiful flowers,"
she added.
"Who gave you those beautiful violets you are wearing, that just match
your eyes?" questioned Dorothy.
"Oh, Mr. Ludlow sent them. He always does, because he knows I love
violets, but that's different from having American beauty roses sent
to one," Ruth replied.
By this time they were around in front and had quietly sat down in the
two seats reserved for them beside Aunt Betty and Alfaretta. Miss
Winter had come on the stage preparatory to performing her dances.
She was a very pretty little girl, with blonde hair, and had a small,
but well formed figure. The stage was cleared and the lights dull. She
danced about the stage in such a light, breezy way that it seemed to
the audience that she was wafted about by a spring breeze. She danced
most artistically, and her rendering of the two dances was so perfect
that the audience applauded again and again, though in response, she
just made some curtain bows and retired.
The trio, which Ruth so wished to hear, came next. Their rendition was
a long and exquisite one, and Ruth now realized why Mr. Ludlow had
put them last. She turned to Dorothy and whispered, "Aren't they
wonderful!"
"Yes," answered Dorothy. "They are the best we have."
"That's why," explained Ruth, "Mr. Ludlow put them last, so they would
leave a good impression of the whole concert in the people's mind. I
feel as if I just couldn't sing at all."
The concert was now over, and the audience indicated by the volume of
applause that rang out that it was a great success. Everyone had done
just what they thought was their very best, and many had received
beautiful flowers. It wasn't long before they were all home.
CHAPTER XV.
MT. VERNON.
As Mr. Ludlow had planned for them to visit Mount Vernon and the White
House the next day it necessitated their packing partly, so as to be
ready to take the train for the next city in which they were to give a
concert. As the concert had been such a great success here, they were
very hopeful regarding the rest of the tour.
The next morning they were all ready in time for the 10 a. m. boat for
Mount Vernon. They had agreed the night before to see Mount Vernon
first and leave the White House till last, as the majority cared more
to see the former.
On their way they passed the City of Alexandria, and were told that
here the Union troops began the invasion of Virginia soil, and here
fell Elsworth the first notable victim of the war.
The old red brick hotel, where he pulled down the flag of the
Confederates was pointed out to the party by the guide. Also the guide
pointed out to them Christ Church, which Washington and his family
had attended.
Then, a little further on, among some peach orchards, begins the Mount
Vernon estate, which in Washington's time contained about eight
thousand acres. The estate is on the right bank of the Potomac, just
sixteen miles below Washington.
The land was part of an extensive grant to John Washington, the first
of the family who came to America in middle of the seventeenth
century. The estate descended to George, when he was barely more than
a boy. He continued to develop and beautify the property until the
breaking out of the war of 1776. Then the ability he had shown in the
Virginia militia called him to the service of the United Colonies. He
returned to Mount Vernon at the close of the war, but had to leave it,
and take up his duties as first President of the Republic.
He was buried upon his estate and the family declined to accept the
subsequent invitation of Congress to transfer the body to the
undercroft of the Capitol.
After Mrs. Washington's death, the property descended finally to John
Augustine Washington, who proposed to dispose of it. A Southern lady,
Miss Ann Pamela Cunningham, secured the refusal, and after failing to
interest Congress in her proposal that the Government should buy and
preserve it as a memorial, succeeded in arousing the women of the
country. An association of these women, named the "Mount Vernon
Ladies' Association of the Union," with representatives from every
State was incorporated, and in 1858 paid $200,000 for the central
portion of the property, some 200 acres, covenanting to hold it in
perpetuity. An admission fee of 25 cents charged all visitors goes to
the payment of current expenses.
The tomb of Washington is the first object of attention. It stands
immediately at the head of the path from the landing. Its position,
small dimensions, and plain form of brick, were indicated by
Washington in his will.
The front part, closed by plain iron gates, through which anyone may
look, contains two plain sarcophagi, each excavated from a single
block of marble. The one in the centre of the little enclosure
contains the remains of the Father of His Country, within the little
mahogany coffin in which they were originally put. At the left is
that of Martha Washington. Four times a year these iron gates are
opened by the authorities, and wreaths and other floral offerings are
deposited therein.
The mansion itself, stands upon considerable eminence, overlooking
broad reaches of the historic Potomac. It is built of oak and pictures
have made its architectural features familiar everywhere.
When Mount Vernon was acquired by the ladies' association, it was not
only out of repair, but the furniture had been distributed to various
heirs, or sold and scattered. An effort was made to preserve as much
as possible, and to restore as closely as might be the original
homelike appearance of the house. It has been impossible to do this
absolutely, and a great many other articles of furniture, adornment
and historical interest have been added. In order to do this, the
various State branches of the association were invited to undertake to
furnish one room each, and many have done so. The names of these
States are associated with the apartments they have taken charge of. A
considerable quantity of furniture, as well as personal relics of
George and Martha Washington, are here, however, especially in the
bedrooms where they died.
"Ah," exclaimed Dorothy as she entered the hall. "Just look at those
swords. Did they all belong to Washington?"
"Yes, dear, the one in the middle of the three," answered Mrs.
Calvert, "was the one he wore when he resigned his commission at
Annapolis, and when he was inaugurated at New York."
"And what is this key hanging here for?" asked Alfaretta.
"That key has a most interesting history," answered Mr. Ludlow. "That
is the key to the Bastile, that prison in Paris, which was so justly
hated by the people, and which was demolished by the mob. Lafayette
sent it to Washington in a letter."
Next they turned to the east and entered the music room. This room is
under the care of the State of Ohio.
"Oh, just see all the things in here!" cried Dorothy. "Look at that
dear harpsichord."
"That harpsichord was given to Nellie Custis by Washington," answered
Aunt Betty.
They next entered the west parlor. Above the mantel piece is carved
the coat-of-arms of the family. The carpet here is a rug presented by
Louis XVI to Washington. It was woven to order, in dark green with
orange stars; its center piece is the seal of the United States, and
the border is a floriated design. This room was refurnished by the
State of Illinois.
"Look, dear, see the spinet there," said Mrs. Calvert to Dorothy.
"Yes, and what beautiful candlesticks those are standing there on that
queer table," answered Dorothy.
"What is this next room?" inquired Alfaretta.
"This room," answered Aunt Betty, "was Mrs. Washington's sitting room,
and was refurnished in the manner of the period by Georgia. But the
dining room is what I want you to especially notice. The furniture
here was that originally used by Washington--"
"Next is Washington's library, for I see books in there," announced
Ruth.
"This is one of the most important rooms in the house," said Mr.
Ludlow, as they entered the banquet hall.
Its length is the whole width of the mansion, and its richly decorated
ceiling is full two stories high.
"The ornate fireplace and mantel of Italian marble and workmanship
once occupied a place in a country home in England," said Mrs.
Calvert; "someone brought it over the ocean and gave it to Washington,
and it is worth examining."
They now ascended the stairs to the second floor to visit the
bedrooms.
"Let's go first to the bedroom where Washington died," said Mr.
Ludlow. "It is almost exactly as it was when he lived here."
"There is the large four-poster," said Dorothy.
"Yes, dear, and these pillows here on the chairs were worked by Martha
Washington herself," added Aunt Betty.
They next went to see the room where Martha Washington died. It is
directly above the one occupied by Washington. This is fitted up as
nearly as possible as it was when occupied by Martha, but only the
corner washstand really belonged to her.
They visited the other bedrooms, noticing the important things of
interest in them, and then started back to the city, where they had
late luncheon and went out immediately after to visit the White House.
They had very little time left and wanted to get just a glimpse of
the President's home.
Everyone is familiar with the appearance of the White House. The
grounds consist of some eight acres sloping down to the Potomac. The
immediate gardens were early attended to as is shown by the size of
the trees.
One park, near the house, known as the white lot, is open to the
public, and here, in warm weather, the marine band gives outdoor
concerts. Here also is the sloping terrace just behind the White
House, that the children of the city gather upon on Easter to roll
their colored eggs.
Coming up from Pennsylvania avenue along the semi-circular drive that
leads up from the open gates, they entered the stately vestibule
through the front portico. The middle upper window from which Lincoln
made so many impromptu but memorable addresses during the war was
pointed out. The doorkeepers here direct callers upon the President up
the broad staircase. They formed the company into one party and
conducted them, under their guidance, around the building.
They were taken into the East room, originally designed for a banquet
hall, which is used now as a state reception room. It has eight
beautiful marble mantels, surmounted by tall mirrors, and large
crystal chandeliers from each of the three great panels of the
ceiling.
Full length portraits of George and Martha Washington are among the
pictures on the wall. Every visitor is told that Mrs. Madison cut the
former painting from out the frame with a pair of shears to preserve
it from the enemy when she fled from the town in 1814. But in her own
letters describing her flight she says that Mr. Custis, the nephew of
Washington, hastened over from Arlington to save the precious portrait
and that a servant cut the outer frame with an axe so the canvas could
be removed, stretched on the inner frame.
Adjoining the East room is the Green room, named so from the general
color scheme which has been traditional. The ceiling is ornamented
with an exquisite design in which musical instruments are entwined in
a garland with cherubs and flowers.
Next to this, and somewhat larger and oval, is the Blue room. The
ornaments here are presents from the French. The mantel clock was a
present from Napoleon to Lafayette, and was given by the latter to
the United States. The fine vases were presented by the president
of the French Republic, on the occasion of the opening of the
Franco-American cable. It is here the President stands when holding
receptions and ceremonials.
The Red room, west of the Blue room, is square and the same size as
the Green parlor. It is more homelike than the others because of its
piano and mantel ornaments, abundant furniture and pictures. It is
used as a reception room and private parlor by the ladies of the
mansion.
In the State dining room at the end of the corridor, elaborate dinners
are usually given once or twice a week, during the winter, and they
are brilliant affairs. Plants and flowers from the conservatories are
supplied in limitless quantities and the table is laden with a rare
display of plate, porcelain and cut glass. It presents a beautiful
appearance and is an effective setting for the elaborate toilets of
the ladies and their glittering jewels.
The table service is exceedingly beautiful and is adorned with various
representations of the flora and fauna of America. The new set of cut
glass, consisting of five hundred and twenty separate pieces, was
made especially for the White House, and on each piece, from the
mammoth centerpiece and punch bowl to the tiny salt cellars, is
engraved the coat-of-arms of the United States. The table can be made
to accommodate as many as fifty-four persons, but the usual number of
guests is from thirty to forty.
A door leads into the conservatory, which is always a beauty spot.
Just opposite the state dining room is the private or family dining
room.
The offices of the President and his secretaries are on the second
floor at the eastern end. The President's room and Cabinet room are in
the executive office west of the White House, so the guide told them,
and a large force of watchmen including police officers are on duty
inside the mansion at all hours, and a continuous patrol is maintained
by the local police of the grounds immediately surrounding the
mansion.
Thinking they had seen as much as they could safely spare time for,
they hurried away back to the hotel, where they all hastily packed the
rest of their things and sent them at once to the station. They soon
started on their considerable journey, and almost nightly concerts
till they should reach Chicago.
CHAPTER XV.
THE LAKE CITY.
About a week later, they arrived one day, late in the afternoon, in
Chicago, and at once took a bus from the station to the hotel, the
Blackstone. They were to sing at the Auditorium that evening. The
concert they gave originally in Washington was to be repeated. As all
were now familiar with their task, they did not have to practice
unless so disposed.
Mr. Ludlow and his assistant hurried off to the Auditorium to see
about decorations and to meet the committee that had charge of selling
tickets there.
Mrs. Calvert, Dorothy, and Alfaretta hurried up to their rooms to get
their things straightened out. Alfy found, having packed hurriedly
that morning, that their dresses were badly wrinkled. She said to Mrs.
Calvert:
"Aunt Betty, what shall I do? My dresses are very much mussed, and I
guess Dorothy's are in the same condition."
"I have a little electric iron in my trunk that I always carry with me
for just that purpose, when I travel, because one's things are very
apt to get wrinkled no matter how much care one takes of them,"
answered Aunt Betty.
"May I have it?" questioned Alfaretta, eagerly, for she was always
very fond of ironing, and always was very proud of her skill in that
direction, for more than once Ma Babcock had praised her by saying
even she couldn't have done as well herself. "I would love to iron the
things all out nice, and make them look like new."
"Certainly, I will get it for you. You unscrew the electric light bulb
and take it out, and then put the small disk in place and screw it
tight. Then turn on the current, and place the piece with the wire
attached into the socket. Then in a few minutes the iron will be hot
enough to use," directed Aunt Betty.
Alfy started off to look for things to press; ribbons, belts, ties,
collars and the dresses that they wished to wear that night. These she
laid on the bed, and Aunt Betty left her there, as happy and content
as she could be in having found some way in which she could be useful.
When Dorothy was all alone at last, she opened a letter that the
clerk had given her when she arrived, and read as follows:
DEAR, DEAR GIRL:
I received your postal and letter from Washington, but was
rather disappointed not to have had another letter from you
ere this. But I suppose you have been very busy sight-seeing
in all the places you have been, and then you must have
given up considerable time to practicing for your concerts.
I know that you have little time while you are traveling
about.
I read the accounts of the first concert in the New York
papers, and they all referred to it as being a great
success. I am very proud of you, dear.
As yet I have heard nothing at all from the detectives
concerning your locket and chain, but I have heard of a new
detective, a private man. A fellow in the office was telling
me about his good work in many cases; it seems that he is a
friend of this fellow's. The chap is a nice boy and is under
me in my work. His name is Billie Clarke, and he lives
uptown in New York. He has invited me up to his home to meet
his mother and sister, some time next week. I shall go
because it is very lonely here in this big city without
you, dear. I miss you, little sweetheart, in a hundred
different ways.
Mr. Van Zandt telephoned me and said that he had submitted
the proof he had concerning you, to his colleague, who would
comment upon it a little later, and would submit it to the
London solicitors; and just as soon as I hear anything about
the result I will write to you.
I asked him if he had been able to do anything in the line
of tracing up little Lem's people, but he said that he
couldn't say much as he had just started, and had found but
very few traces. So that is something we will still have to
hope for, though I am sure he will do his best to solve that
mystery.
I like my new work very much indeed. There is a lot to
learn, and I spend all my evenings reading up on matters I
am not quite strong in, but, in time, I certainly hope to
make good.
And, dearest, I hope to save up all I can, against that day
when I will surely be the happiest man on earth. You know
what day I mean, dear girl.
Mrs. Quarren has been just great to me, and has done
everything she could to make my room seem homelike. The
meals here are wonderful, and if I keep on eating as much as
I have this last week, I shall be fat when you come back
here again.
Now, dear, please, please write to me. You know how very
lonely I am, and how anxious I am about you. Write and tell
me all the news.
I love you, girl, always.
Your own,
JIM
Dorothy read the letter once, and sighed, "Dear, dear Jim," and then
she slowly read the letter through again, kissed the signature,
blushing as she did so. She then got up, walked to the writing desk, a
pretty little mahogany one, fitted out nicely, selected some paper and
started to write. She thought, "I will just write a little note to Jim
to thank him for sending me those beautiful American beauty roses that
everyone admired. I ought to have done so before." Her letter was as
follows:
DEAR JIM:
The clerk just handed me your letter as I came into the
hotel, for we just arrived in Chicago. I was very glad to
hear from you.
Most of all, I want to thank you so very much for those
flowers. They were just beautiful, and it pleased me so, to
think of your remembering that we were to have the concert,
and then sending those flowers to me by telegraph.
The President was at the concert, and in the intermission we
went to his box, spoke to him, and shook hands with him. I
carried your flowers with me all the time.
I am going to rest for a while after I write this letter, as
we give a concert here to-night at the Auditorium.
The members of the company that joined us at Washington are
very fine. There is a trio, and their singing is exquisite;
also a Miss Winters, who is a wonderful dancer. She fairly
floats about the stage, and makes a very pretty picture.
The whole company is very good, indeed, and I guess we are
doing very well, judging from the applause we earn. Mr.
Ludlow seems pleased with the finances. You know Mr.
Dauntrey takes care of those and helps Mr. Ludlow in
general. Although the latter is very considerate and
helpful, I don't know just why it is, but there is something
I don't quite like about him. He is so very handsome that
most girls, including Ruth, are raving about him.
We have a few busy days. A concert every night and train by
day. We go from here to St. Louis, and then to the Coast. I
am anxious to get to San Francisco. I want to look up that
old house there on the bluff that we had that year we took
Aunt Betty there for her health when Monty Sharp was with
us. Do you remember, Jim?
I am so sorry about that locket, but I know that you will
find it, and then we can clear up the whole affair.
And so you think that perhaps Mr. Van Zandt will find out
all about poor little Lem's parents just from that sampler
that Alfy found in the attic? I do so hope so.
Aunt Betty and Alfy, I know, would wish to be remembered, if
they knew I was writing, so I will send their love anyway.
Now, isn't this a nice, long, newsy letter?
I have to practice a little now, so I will stop.
I am yours, as ever,
DOROTHY.
She read the letter she had just written over again, and then sealed
it. She then opened the door, stepped into the hall and dropped it
into the mail box chute near the elevator. Then she returned to the
room to dress and rest before the concert.
In a little while Alfy entered and found her dressing.
"See what I have been doing," she said, gayly, holding up the dresses
she had just finished pressing so that Dorothy could see and admire
them.
"You dear girl," commented Dorothy, going over and kissing her. "You
are always doing something for me. Thank you, dear, for pressing my
dress. Doesn't it look nice now?--like new again."
"Is there anything else that you would like to have pressed, now that
I am working?" Alfy inquired.
"Why, there is that blue waist that I have been wearing in the train.
It is very mussy," added Dorothy, "but if you are in a hurry, don't
bother with it; I really can get along without it."
"Give it to me," responded Alfy. "I just love ironing, and will have
it done in no time. I might as well press mine while I am about it,
too." And taking Dorothy's waist from her, she quickly found her own,
and started off with them.
The girls were soon ready, and then went down the stair with Mrs.
Calvert.
Mr. Ludlow called for Dorothy at seven o'clock that evening, and they
started for the Auditorium.
The stage, this time, was decorated with huge bunches of
chrysanthemums, and large green palms that hung their great, fan-like
leaves in a regular bower effect over the stage, making a very
effective background for the performance. The programs here were, of
course, inside much like the Washington ones, but this time the cover
was of heavy, dark brown manila paper, embossed into a large dull gold
chrysanthemum, and tied with a yellow ribbon bow at the top end. They
were very pretty and effective.
The committee of ladies that had charge of selling the seats here in
Chicago had arranged to have the programs sold. They had selected ten
very pretty and charming debutantes, and had provided them with pretty
little dainty satin bags, with yellow chrysanthemums handpainted on
them. These bags were hung over their shoulders by yellow ribbons. The
whole effect was very pretty and artistic. The girls were to charge
twenty-five cents for the programs, and the money they slipped into a
little pocket in the bag which held them.
During the intermission, most of the people retired to the cosy little
tea-room in front of the place, where cool and refreshing drinks as
well as ice creams and ices were served at a moderately low fee.
There the girls met many charming Chicago people, and the committee of
ladies made it very pleasant for them by introducing them to almost
everyone. A most informal and successful evening, they all agreed they
had spent.
The next day was Sunday, and as a few of their number were visiting
friends in Chicago, the rest of them decided to spend the day
sight-seeing.
The trio, for so they were always called by the rest, all had gone to
visit relatives, and little Miss Winter had promised to visit a friend
who lived in a suburb of the city. So the rest of the company felt
quite lost, and thought the best way to amuse themselves in this
large, strange city was to go sight-seeing and become acquainted with
it.
"Did you know," said Mr. Ludlow as the little party started out on a
tour of the city, "that Chicago is especially famous for its highly
developed and extensive boulevard systems and parks? The public parks
cover an area of over four thousand acres and are being added to every
year."
"Yes," responded Mrs. Calvert, "and the great boulevards of the city
encircle the metropolis and connect parks and squares. These great
roads, splendidly paved and shaded by trees, and lined with ornamental
lamp posts, are throughout the year favorite highways for the
automobilists."
About ten minutes' walk from the hotel brought them to Grant Park on
the lake front. There the Art Institute attracted their attention, and
they found the building open.
"The center of art interests in Chicago is located here," said Mr.
Ludlow. "This building contains the Museum of Fine Arts and the School
of Design. Its collections and the building and its work are entirely
conducted on voluntary subscriptions."
"I have heard that the Art School here is the largest one in America,"
said Mrs. Calvert.
They visited the various rooms in the museum, including the Hall
collection of casts of ancient and modern sculpture, and the
Higinbotham collection of Naples bronzes, the rooms containing French
sculpture and musical instruments, scarabaeae, Egyptian antiques,
Greek vases of glass and terra-cotta, and found all very interesting.
They then visited Blackstone Hall, containing the great Blackstone
collection of architectural casts chiefly from French subjects. Then
the paintings of George Inness. These canvases are so diverse and
representative that it is highly improbable that another equally
significant group of works by Inness will ever come into market again.
From the north side of Grant Park and extending south to Garfield
boulevard near Washington Park is Michigan Boulevard. This historic
drive, part of which was once an Indian trail, is a main artery of
automobile travel from the lake front hotel districts to the south
parks.
The party then took a surface car to Jackson Park, which was a short
distance. It was the site of the world's Columbian Exposition.
"The Field Museum of Natural History was the Fine Arts Building in the
Exposition of 1893," said Mr. Ludlow. "Let's visit that part first."
This museum was established soon after the close of the world's
Columbian Exposition, and occupies one of the largest and most
beautiful buildings in the whole exposition group covering two acres.
The building is classic Greek in style, constructed with brick and
steel, covered with ornamental stucco, in imitation of marble.
Marshall Field, whose name the institution perpetuates, was the person
who made the building possible by his generosity. He gave about one
and a half million dollars. Then at his death in 1906, he left the
institution eight million dollars, one-half for endowment, and the
other half for a magnificent permanent building, worthy of the
unrivaled scientific collections which it contains.
The nucleus of the material now on view was gathered by gift and
purchase from exhibitions at the World's Columbian Exposition.
From here they walked to the Wooded Island, an interesting feature of
which is the Cahokia Court House, reputed to be the oldest public
building in the whole Mississippi valley.
It was built, it is said, about the year 1716, at Cahokia, Illinois,
and has served in various public capacities. At different periods it
was employed for both civil and military purposes, and is recognized
as the oldest county seat building (Saint Clair County, Illinois) in
the original Northwest Territory.
The building is constructed of squared walnut logs, set on end in the
early French manner of stockade construction, the logs being held
together with wooden pins. Three flags, French, English and American,
float from the flagstaff of the Old Cahokia Court House, daily.
Within the building are a number of photographs of the original
documents which pertain to its interesting history.
The Japanese buildings, representing three periods of Japanese
history, remain in their original site at the north end of Wooded
Island, and near them is a tiny garden in formal Japanese style.
The United States Life Saving Station is near the lake shore and was
one of the interesting government exhibitions, and has ever since been
maintained as a regular life saving station.
La Rabida, at the south end of the park on the lake shore is an exact
reproduction of an ancient Spanish convent, where Columbus was at one
time sheltered and befriended, in the days before he was able to
secure aid from the Spanish court.
"And an interesting reminder of Columbus can be seen in those three
small caravels," said Mr. Ludlow. "Do you know their names? They are
reproductions of the small craft that brought Columbus and his
followers on their first voyage to the New World."
Dorothy, who had remembered reading an article on Columbus in a recent
magazine, exclaimed joyfully, "I know, the Nina, the Pinta and the
Santa Maria."
"Right," laughed Mr. Ludlow.
"Oh, I am hungry," said Alfy, suddenly, "I am most starved. What time
is it, I wonder? I feel as if it were way past dinner time."
Mr. Ludlow consulted his watch and said, "It is just six forty-five."
"I guess we had better start back to the hotel, now," broke in Mrs.
Calvert. "I am rather tired and hungry, too."
"We have seen quite a lot of the city and we can go into the shopping
district and see that in the morning. There are some few things I
would like to purchase," remarked Dorothy.
"I would like to visit Marshall Field's. I have always heard so much
about it and I would like to see if these Chicagoans really know what
a good store is."
"You will find that Marshall Field's is indeed a very wonderful store.
Just like our New York stores, though, but a trifle better, anyway,"
said Mrs. Calvert. "Yes, I think you will all agree with me, when you
visit that wonderful store in the morning."
They hurried back to the hotel and prepared for dinner, after which
Mr. Ludlow took Ruth, Dorothy and Alfaretta to church. Aunt Betty
stayed home, being too tired to go out.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE ACCIDENT.
On Monday morning the company divided into little parties and went
shopping, each to secure their own special needs.
Dorothy, Ruth, Alfaretta and Mrs. Calvert made one party. They went
direct to Marshall Field's and were admittedly amazed by what they
saw, so stupendous is the place. They were surprised to find the
store's capacity so large and everything so fine, of such good
quality, reasonably priced and conveniently arranged.
Mrs. Calvert bought a belt and a pair of gloves, and met such
courteous attention and carefulness among the shop-girls as to be very
much impressed. She said to Dorothy:
"Dear, I never before found shopping so pleasant. I wish I could
always get everything I wished at Chicago, and especially here in this
store, for it is directed wonderfully well."
"I would like to send some souvenir postcards," broke in Alfy. "Do
you suppose I can get them here?"
"Yes, indeed," answered Dorothy. "I saw them, a large counter full of
all kinds of views in and around the city; they were near the door
which we entered."
"You can write them right here, and send them off from the store,"
added Aunt Betty.
"Come along then," directed Ruth. "All this way who want post cards."
They made their way to the counter where the cards were displayed and
immediately were engaged in selecting views of the things and places
they had seen in the city.
"Here is a very pretty card," said Ruth. "It has the La Rabida on it.
You remember the convent we saw in Jackson Park yesterday, where they
had all of those Columbus relics?"
"Yes, and did you see this one?" asked Dorothy, holding up a card to
view. "It's the little Japanese Garden on the Wooded Island in the
same park."
"Look!" exclaimed Alfy, showing them all another card, "here is one of
the Art Institute!"
Mrs. Calvert, who had been searching through the various cards, said,
"I think these three are very interesting, this of the store, this
one of our hotel, and this other of the Life Saving Station in the
park."
"Well, have you all selected those you wish?" said Dorothy. "Because,
if you have, we can all go over there to the writing room and send
them all right off."
"What a beautifully appointed room," said Mrs. Calvert, as they
entered the spacious, well lighted writing room, with the mahogany
desks and generous supply of good quality writing paper, pens,
ink-wells, etc. There was also in the corner a stamp machine, in which
one deposits the right change and secures the desired number of stamps
in return.
"I want to send cards to Ma and Pa Babcock. Ma always likes me to, so
she can show them down at Liza Jane's," said Alfy.
"I would like to send one to Gerald Banks and his sister, and, of
course, to Jim," said Dorothy.
"I think there are just two I wish to send. I want to send one to Mrs.
Quarren," rejoined Ruth, "and if you do not mind, I think I should
like to send one to Jim, also."
"Of course I don't object," laughed Dorothy. "Jim would be pleased to
think you had remembered him. But let me see which one you are going
to send him so I may send him a different one."
"Very well," answered Ruth. "I will send the one of the hotel."
"And I," responded Dorothy, "will send the one of the lake and Wooded
Island in Jackson Park."
"I think I shall send Jim a card also," said Mrs. Calvert. "But I
shall send him the one of the store. My list is just a little longer
than all you girls' lists. I shall send cards to Frau and Herr
Deichenberg, little Lemuel and old Ephraim, and Jim, whom I mentioned
before."
"Shall I get the stamps?" said Ruth.
"Can I go with you?" asked Alfy. "I want to see how the machine
works."
"Certainly, come on," added Ruth. "How many shall we need?"
"You had better get fifteen," answered Mrs. Calvert.
"You see," remarked Ruth to Alfaretta, "that one can only deposit
nickels and dimes in the slot."
"What are you going to put in?" questioned Alfy.
"I am going to deposit first a dime and then a nickel in the slot
that's marked for one cent stamps," replied Ruth, suiting her actions
to her words and picking up the stamps which the machine dropped into
the receiving tray.
"That's real fun," said Alfaretta. "I'd always buy stamps here, but Ma
Babcock would not like it."
"Why not?" asked Ruth.
"Because Ma always wants to talk, and would not think she had her
money's worth without it."
They put the stamps on the cards and then mailed them in the large
gilt mail box near the door in the corner.
"I guess it's most time for us to go back to the hotel for luncheon,"
said Aunt Betty.
"Almost," replied Ruth, looking at her small gold watch. "It's now
just eleven-thirty."
"I want to get some blue ribbon," said Dorothy, "before we leave for
the hotel."
"And I must get a veil," added Ruth.
The girls departed on their quests and in less than two minutes met
Mrs. Calvert at the door and all went back together to the hotel for
luncheon. It was a quiet mid-day meal, and as soon as it was over they
had to devote their attention to their trunks, as they were to leave
that afternoon for their next stopping place.
Mr. Dauntrey and Mr. Ludlow attended to the baggage and the tickets
and very soon all were ready.
Just as they were leaving the hotel to go to the station, Mr. Dauntrey
singled Ruth out, and approaching her, said, "Will you come and walk
down with me?"
"With pleasure," said the girl, suiting her steps to his, and they
started slowly to stroll down to the station.
"I have a box of Huyler's here for you," remarked Mr. Dauntrey. "I
thought perhaps you would like it. I thought it would be nice for you
to have on the train."
"Why thank you ever so much. You are very kind."
"Not half as kind as I would like to be, if you would only afford me
the opportunity."
Ruth made some answer that turned the conversation to some less
personal subject. She kept up a run of chatter about indifferent
matters.
So many people were upon the streets and so many conveyances on the
roadways that progress was slow, and when they reached the station
they found Mr. Ludlow very much provoked that Ruth should have kept
them all waiting, nearly causing the loss of their train.
"Couldn't you have walked a little faster, Ruth?" Mr. Ludlow asked.
"Or taken the stage to the station if you were so tired? This must not
happen again."
Ruth, who disliked being reprimanded before everybody, angrily
exclaimed, "Well, you didn't have to wait here for me, I am sure, for
you might have known that Mr. Dauntrey is capable of taking care of
me, and, aside from that, I think I can take pretty good care of
myself."
Mr. Ludlow did not reply, but hurried them to their private car, the
others of the party having preceded him. Very shortly they were
speeding on their way.
Mrs. Calvert read a book, and Dorothy and Alfy were merrily chatting
over their trip, so Ruth turned away from Mr. Ludlow and busied
herself talking to Mr. Dauntrey and nibbling his chocolates and bon
bons.
Mr. Ludlow, who had most of the time been looking out of the window,
turned to Mrs. Calvert and said, "I think it looks as if we were going
to have a bad storm. It looks to me as if the clouds have been
following us up, and I'm afraid we are going to get it in a little
while good and plenty."
Mrs. Calvert looked out of the window and saw the storm clouds
approaching and gathering for the downpour, and then her eyes wandered
to the river beside which the train ran.
"Just look!" she exclaimed, pointing to the water. "Look, quick, at
the river!"
"That is quite remarkable," said Mr. Ludlow. "Just see how high the
water is and how fast it is flowing."
"Why it seems to be rising higher and higher by the minute as we go
along," responded Mrs. Calvert. "I can't understand it, can you?"
"Oh!" shrieked Ruth at this moment, clinging to Mr. Dauntrey's hand.
"Oh, what an awful flash of lightning! Oh, how I hate an electric
storm! Lightning scares me half to death."
"I like it," replied Alfy, looking across the dark, turbulent, swiftly
moving stream. "I always like to watch it. And 'up mounting' we do
have some awful storms. You remember them, don't you, Dorothy?"
"Of course I do. Sometimes, though, I used to get a little scared.
They used to be so very bad," said the girl, and all the people in
the car jumped as a loud crash of thunder followed a blazing streak of
lightning. The thunder seemed right under their feet and was so loud
and so sudden that all were startled for a minute.
Ruth jumped up and grabbed Mr. Ludlow around the neck and hid her face
in his shoulder, moaning, "Oh, oh, I don't like this at all."
Mr. Ludlow, although he did not like to see the girl so overcome with
nervousness, was decidedly happy that she should turn to him, and
hoped perhaps that the storm would last forever, if he could continue
to hold Ruth to him.
This awful clap was followed by another flash of lightning which lit
up the car brighter than daylight. Mrs. Calvert, who was facing the
window, looked out and gasped, "Oh, why don't they stop the train?"
Then they all heard a mighty splash and the train gave a terrible
lurch and threw those standing over on the floor and those sitting had
a hard time to keep their places.
All the lights immediately went out and Alfy shouted, "We are struck!"
Some of the party shrieked and one or two fainted dead away. None
could see the others in the terrible, black darkness in which they
were enveloped.
At last, after a prolonged silence that seemed ages, Mrs. Calvert
said. "Is any one hurt?"
Everyone began to collect their scattered thoughts by this time, and
Mr. Ludlow had managed to rise from his fallen position and get Ruth
up and into a seat. He grouped about in the pitch blackness into which
they had been plunged and finally found his chair. He deftly managed
to retain Ruth's hand in his, in order to reassure her.
The answer Mrs. Calvert received in general was that everyone was safe
and physically unharmed and mentally as near right as could be
expected.
Mrs. Calvert then asked, "Did anyone see out of the window when the
flash of lightning lit up this car?" And when she had received answer
that no one had, she continued: "I happened to be sitting facing the
window and when the flash came I saw out very plainly."
"What did you see?" questioned Mr. Ludlow, in a firm voice.
"The river," responded Mrs. Calvert. "The river was up to the tracks."
The fact was suggestive of further danger, and then Dorothy
questioned, "What was the crash? And why did the train lurch so? And
why are all the lights out?"
"Maybe," suggested Alfy, "maybe we were struck with lightning. Do you
think so, Aunt Betty?"
"I don't know," she replied. "I can't understand where the train hands
can be. They should be here to tell us what has happened."
"Do you suppose we have struck another train?" questioned Dorothy.
"Oh," groaned Ruth. "I wish we could have some lights. It's so dark I
am afraid something will happen, and maybe some one will be killed."
"Hush, child," remarked Mr. Ludlow. "Just be thankful things are no
worse than they are, that we are all safe alive and none of us are
hurt."
Ruth subsided to silence and sobbed beneath her breath. Just then,
George, the old negro porter, broke in on the excited party and
endeavored to tell what was the matter.
"Lord o' Mercy, massa!" he exclaimed. "De train am wrecked. The ingin
and one ob de baggage cars did fall off these track, plump, splash,
right in de water."
"That's what the crash and splash and jerk was that we felt. The
water was so high that it probably came up on the tracks here, and the
engine and baggage car jumped the weakened trestle into the water. I
wonder how it was it didn't pull the rest of the train into the water
also," said Mr. Ludlow.
Just then the conductor and a brakeman passing from the next car
through their own explained what had occurred to Mr. Ludlow and the
other interested listeners.
First lighting the gas lamps to dispel the semi-darkness, the
conductor said, "Sir, you see the lightning struck the train right
between the first passenger car and the baggage, severing the
connection, and leaving the engine and baggage car free to go ahead.
They did, and running a little farther ahead it jumped the track, but
no one was hurt. The shock somehow set the brakes, and brought the
remaining cars to a stop. It's lucky we held to the tracks, sir, it is
indeed."
"Did anyone in the passenger cars get hurt?" questioned Mr. Ludlow.
"No, sir, only a few fainted," answered the conductor.
"What are we going to do now? We have no power to go ahead, and we
can't even go back. We can't move. Are we to stay right where we are,
conductor?"
"For a time, we must," was the answer.
"When is another train due here?" questioned Mrs. Calvert.
"A train is due to come through this way in an hour and a half,
madam," said the conductor. "But that will not help us any to go
ahead. We have sent word back and may expect help from the nearest
station. Some arrangement can likely be made to switch us off on a
branch road, and by a circuitous route we can get back again to our
line."
"And how about our concert to-night?"
"If help is promptly sent we may get you there on time."
"We were due at five o'clock," said Mr. Ludlow.
"We can't promise you anything definite now," said the conductor, as
he went about his duties.
"All we can do is to just sit still and hope for aid, and that it will
come in time," said Mrs. Calvert.
"I'm afraid that's all, except to be thankful that we were not
killed," suggested Mr. Ludlow.
The exact idea of their position was finally grasped by all,
and everyone breathed a little prayer for having been saved so
miraculously. They all quieted down and prepared to sit there and
wait, and hope for the arrival of a train bringing aid. An hour an
a half, so they had been told, and that hour and a half seemed the
longest hour and a half that most of them had ever experienced.
Finally they heard a shout from one of the brakemen, a glad shout, a
joyous sign, they thought, and then the conductor came through and
announced, "Sir, a small repair train has just come up to us. They
sent it out very promptly, as they thought that we might be in even
more serious need than we are."
"Can it take us back, then?" asked Mr. Ludlow, and the rest of the
company sighed in relief, because they now knew that they were safe
and would eventually be pulled out of their present position.
"It can take back two cars, sir," answered the conductor, "and would
you object, sir, if I put some other passengers in here with you?"
"Not at all," answered Mr. Ludlow. "Bring in as many as you wish. We
will be only too glad to have them."
The conductor departed, returning in a little time, accompanied by
about a dozen women and half as many small children, saying, "I
brought the women and young ones, as I thought that they would be more
comfortable in here."
Dorothy and Ruth, alert and interested, forgot their own discomfort in
rendering aid to others, anxious and in distress.
"They have connected the little repair train engine to the two cars,"
the conductor announced, "and we will be off in a short time now. We
are going back up the road a little way and branch off, and so recover
the main line. We think we will get you to your destination in time
for your concert."
This was done, but with little time to spare, and if all the artists
were not quite up to their usual standard of excellence that night,
the experience of the afternoon was quite sufficient excuse.
The remainder of the trip to St. Louis was without event of note. The
accident on the train was not without its advantages in the way of
publicity, and their concerts drew large audiences. In St. Louis two
concerts were given, both being very successful.
CHAPTER XVII.
CONCLUSION.
In the sequence of events the tour came to an end. A twenty-weeks'
season had been successfully carried through. There had been, of
course, hampering and untoward conditions to surmount. An occasional
discordant note was struck. Mr. Carleton, who acted as accompanist
when no orchestra was employed, turned out to be rather an arbitrary
individual, and had caused Ruth, particularly, many a heart-ache.
Dorothy, with her winning responsiveness to an artistic temperament,
felt that she had less cause to complain.
Her affair with Jim had not of late been plain sailing. She had not
written to him very often or a bit regularly, and he had entered a
rather arbitrary protest, so she thought, and one letter at least,
that she had addressed to him had gone astray. Then Jim reached the
conclusion that his letters were not appreciated, and that absence had
caused an estrangement. He nursed his resentment into a cauldron of
bitterness, and with the perverseness of lovers built mountains of
molehills. Not but that such ephemeral erections may, and oftimes do,
cast a shadow that will blot out true regard.
Without a tried and certain knowledge of her heart as concerned Jim,
Dorothy had found the ever gentlemanly attentions of Mr. Dauntrey very
agreeable. Ruth, on such occasions, was inclined to resentful looks
and acts, of which, however, Dorothy was sublimely ignorant.
One day, journeying from Sacramento to San Francisco, it had been
observed that Mr. Dauntrey and Alfy were in close consultation, an
unusual event for those two to find a subject of mutual interest.
Later, in a spirit of fun, Dorothy chided her companion.
"So you have won over Mr. Dauntrey," cried Dorothy, laughing.
"Nonsense," said Alfy, but blushing rosily.
"But for two hours on the train you monopolized him entirely. What did
you find to talk about?"
"Well, for one thing, we were talking about you," was the defensive
response.
"About me, Alfy, what could you have been saying about me?"
"I was telling him," said Alfy, hesitatingly, "about your English
inheritance."
"Oh, but I wonder you did that. I asked that nothing be said about it.
For, as you know, nothing has ever come of the matter, and nothing
may. The locket has never been found, and the lawyer says that there
are other 'seemingly insurmountable requirements.' My, what big words.
I wonder I could string them all together."
"Well," went on Alfy, in her further defense, "he asked about you, and
I couldn't see that there was any harm."
"No real harm, Alfy. And I hoped for Aunt Betty's sake that there was
an inheritance assured. She is so worried about Bellevieu. The
mortgages and taxes seem to eat up everything. I have given her, of
course, all of my earnings, but she says things are still going
badly."
"What are we to do now?" asked Alfy, seeking another subject. "Go
home?"
"Mr. Ludlow has made some arrangements for Ruth to sing and for me to
play here in San Francisco, at private houses of the rich. As you
know, all of the others except Mr. Dauntrey, have gone east, their
contracts expired."
Their conversation was interrupted, now, by Aunt Betty, who came into
the room.
"Here is a much belated letter," she exclaimed, "the envelope all
marked up with forwarding addresses. It must have been traveling about
for quite some time."
"It's from Jim," cried Dorothy, and quickly broke the seal. The
postmark the letter bore was a date fully two months back, and the
first few lines were, to the recipient very pleasing ones, till she
remembered that they were written before their late disagreement. But
the major part of the letter bore upon a subject that concerned them
all, and this she read aloud.
"It's about Lem," cried Dorothy. "Mr. Van Zandt has made some quite
wonderful discoveries. And just to think, it all comes about through
that sampler you found, Alfy. But let me read:
"I have some interesting news concerning Lemuel Haley, the boy your
camping party found in the thick woods crying that night. It was a
lucky thing for the boy that Mrs. Babcock gave Alfaretta that sampler,
for from just such a simple little thing as that, we have been able to
trace all of Lem's family history, bringing out a sufficient,
although I will not say good, reason for his uncle's mistreatment of
him.
"Lemuel Haley's mother was Hannah Woodrow. The very same girl
that summered with Mrs. Babcock, and remained there attending
the little village school for one whole year. She was a very
delicate girl, not particularly pretty and very shy. She had
large limpid brown eyes, and was of small build.
"She returned to Baltimore, after her year in the mountains,
and lived the regulation life of a wealthy farmer's daughter.
There Mr. Haley, a traveling salesman, so he told her family,
fell in love with her or--her money, and when both her father
and mother died quite suddenly, the traveling salesman made
it his business to woo the lonely girl. He wished to marry
her immediately and protect her, so he told her, and was so
persistent that the poor distracted, grief-stricken girl
finally gave him her promise, and within a month of her
parents' death married him. At once he proceeded to dissipate
her fortune, and, to make a long story short, the poor girl
died when Lem was born. The father was later killed by an
accident.
"Lem's only relative, it was found, was an uncle who lived in
the South. This man volunteered to take the little one, and
was made legal guardian and controller of the remnant of the
fortune. The child was a weak, delicate boy, and this uncle,
a cruel, planning man, figured that if he worked Lem very
hard all the time, he would eventually break down, and then
he would come in for the child's money. Thus, the poor boy
was driven to desperation, and finally ran away. You know
better than I do, the incidents connected with his rescue.
"I have prepared all necessary legal papers as to the facts,
to prove that Mr. Haley was and is an unfit guardian for the
child, and will present these to the court."
This pleasing news was interestedly discussed, and a happy future
argued for the boy.
The following morning, Mr. Dauntrey was early at the breakfast table,
with a proposition that the party should visit Tamalpais. The day was
beautifully clear, and on no other is a trip to the mountain's summit
interesting. Mr. Ludlow could not go, but the ladies accepted with
alacrity, and a prompt start was made. Glorious sights indeed are
revealed, as the railroad winds its way to the apex of this peak, the
highest so near an American city.
Lunch was served at the summit house, but Dorothy was so interested in
the views obtainable from the various vantage points that she wandered
away from the others while they were still seated at the table.
When her absence was noted, Mr. Dauntrey sought her out, at first
unsuccessfully, then seeking for her in a secluded view point seldom
visited, he heard her voice, and found that, in her anxiety to attain
a high rock, she had lost her footing, and catching for a support had
sprained her ankle. She had as well badly torn her dress.
Her rescuer was all gallantry and courtesy, and assisted her to a seat
near at hand. He would have carried her to the train platform, but
this proffer Dorothy declined.
"I shall be able to walk, shortly," she explained. "It is not a severe
sprain and the pain is bearable, and only acute when I put my weight
on my foot."
"A few moments' rest will help to set you right," said Mr. Dauntrey,
and then added, looking into her eyes, "Do you know, I wish you had
been in some real serious danger, and that I had been privileged to
render aid."
"I thank you for what you have done, and now let's go to the others,"
quickly interposed the girl. But one effort to rest her weight upon
her foot dissuaded her from any further immediate endeavor, and so she
sought, unsuccessfully, to turn the conversation in other directions.
"Do you know," he repeated, "that I would like to render such service
that you would never wish for any other servitor?"
"Please," said Dorothy, "let's talk about the wonderful view of sea
and forest and the heaven above."
"I am intense in my admiration of all that is beautiful, and above
all, permit me to say that I admire the beautiful Dorothy." She raised
her hand in protest, but he continued. "May I quote for you a little
gem that is aptly expressive of my sentiments?"
"Well," laughed Dorothy, quizzically looking at her foot, "I am at
your mercy."
The man by her side did not venture to touch her hand, which rested on
the bench almost beside his own, but, with earnest intensity of his
manner, he leaned forward and looked longingly, nay lovingly, into
her eyes till they fell before his gaze. His face, handsome and
animated, his voice musical and well modulated. Every word was spoken
slowly as if to admit of certain assimilation.
"May my Heaven be
A rosary bower,
With one sweet angel,
And that one--Thee!"
There was a moment's pause.
"Miss Calvert," he went on, "I would that my heaven might begin on
earth. It will, if you will be mine."
Dorothy, like all other girls, under similar circumstances, had felt
for a moment the compliment of a man's love, then all at once she
recalled the conversation between Alfy and her quondam lover, and with
her quick intuition, she had recognized her possible inheritance as
the probable cause of Mr. Dauntrey's sudden declaration. Still she
would not be unkind.
"Oh, my foot pains me unbearably. Please, Mr. Dauntrey, get Alfy to
come and help me."
"Just one little word of hope and I fly."
"No, Mr. Dauntrey, I can but say at once, and frankly and firmly,
too, no," and with that she made pretense to such suffering from the
injured foot that the suppliant for her hand had but, with the best
grace he could muster, to comply with her very reasonable request.
Dorothy, when the others came, was able, leaning lightly on Alfy's
arm, to accompany them to the train, and soon was happily interested
in the wonderful panorama spread before their eyes on the return
journey.
The base of the mountain reached, there was some delay, and Mr.
Dauntrey walked about with Ruth, the two in earnest conversation. Aunt
Betty and Dorothy sat quietly, while the former made as presentable as
she could the torn garment worn by the girl.
"You will have to discard this gown, and substitute for traveling your
light mohair. Fortunately, the weather is warm enough now. You have
not had it on for a long time." To Alfy was referred this decision,
with results that will develop later.
Alfy was interested, albeit horrified, and held irresistibly
spellbound, by the "sausage" man, selling, as the placard said, "Hot
Dogs." A half dozen wooley canines were exhibited on the counter and
elsewhere about, and when an order for a frankfurter sandwich was
given, one of the dogs was grabbed up and caused to disappear into a
mechanical contrivance with a large wheel, which was then turned and
there were barkings and such grumblings as might be expected from an
animal suffering dire and distressing annihilation. Then from an
opening, the much aproned proprietor handed forth the promised
sandwich.
At the hotel that afternoon, the girl's injured foot was cared for by
her aunt. "We want no medicine-man," she said, "for I know of the most
effective home remedy, guaranteed to cure in twenty-four hours. I have
secured the ingredients from the hotel kitchen."
"What may they be?" inquired Dorothy.
"Lard and salt. The former spread on, and about the injured ankle, and
liberally sprinkled with salt. Then securely bandaged."
"It certainly is simple, and I will surely be able to play at the
reception to-morrow afternoon?"
"I have no doubt of it."
"Aunty, we are so seldom by ourselves, and Ruth and Alfy have gone
out. I want to have a long talk with you."
Dorothy lay resting, her injured foot supported, while her aunt sat
beside her, caressingly stroking her hair and forehead.
First, the young girl spoke of Mr. Dauntrey and of her experience
of that day. The humorous aspect of the circumstances appealed
alike to both. Then the inheritance was discussed, and Aunt Betty
deplored again the unfortunate loss of the locket and the lacking
"insurmountable requirements," in the way of some missing papers.
Concerning the latter, Aunt Betty had some hopes that among her
accumulated correspondence and documents at Bellevieu, there might
be found helpful data bearing on the subject.
"Unless some good fortune is happily vouchsafed us," deplored Aunt
Betty sorrowfully, "I greatly fear that Bellevieu will be lost."
"Mr. Van Zandt wrote, however," encouraged Dorothy, "that it would be
well worth while for us to go to England, and that personally
presenting myself might 'achieve results otherwise unattainable.' You
see, I have remembered his words."
"I am determined upon that," responded Aunt Betty, "and I am arranging
that we shall go within a month after we get back east. I have a
little surprise for you, too. Molly Breckenridge is going also. The
judge has arranged for her expenses."
The reader, who would wish to still further follow the fortunes of our
heroine will find in "Dorothy in England," a volume of startling
interest and sweet sentiment.
Dorothy was most appreciative of her aunt's thoughtfulness, and
now she unburdened her mind of her secret. She told her of her
strong regard for Jim, of his expressed love for her, and of her
own inability to just exactly determine if her feelings were the
equivalent of his. She wished for Jim every happiness, and she shared
in his ambitions. They had had a difference, and she was most unhappy,
and yet there was an intangible something that restrained her from
seeking a reconciliation.
The good, motherly woman, who was her confessor, knew perhaps better
than the girl herself, the strength of her regard for Jim, and knew
that the heart's promptings are seldom influenced. With this wisdom
for a guide, she counselled wisely and satisfyingly. Time, and right
doing, would remedy and set square all that was untoward.
Folded in each other's arms in harmony of feeling, they were suddenly
broken in upon by Alfy.
"What do you think," she cried. "You told me to get out your light
traveling dress. You had not worn it since that day of the fire in New
York, and what do you think!" she excitedly repeated, "in the fold of
the skirt I found this!" and she held forth the long missing locket.
So it unquestionably was. The gown had been put away, and in the folds
of the skirt had been caught, and so long retained, the locket.
A word more and our story ends. The journey east was uneventful. At
Baltimore, Aunt Betty and the girls said good-bye to Mr. Ludlow and
Mr. Dauntrey. Ruth was to visit a day at Bellevieu and then go on with
Alfy to New York.
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise,
every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and
intent.