AN EVENING AT THE BOARDING-HOUSE.
The confidence which Prof. Poppendorf had reposed in me, naturally led
me to observe his behavior at table to the young woman from Macy's.
There was a difficulty as I had to look round the "Disagreeable Woman,"
who sat next to me. Then I could not very well watch the Professor's
expression, as his large, green goggles concealed so large a part of his
face.
He still continued to devote the chief part of his time to the business
of the hour, and his eyes were for the most part fixed upon his plate.
Yet now and then I observed he offered her the salt or the pepper, a
piece of attention quite new to him. I had some thought of suggesting
to Miss Canby that she had awakened an interest in the heart of the gray
old Professor, but it occurred to me that this would be hardly fair to
the elderly suitor. It was only right to leave him a fair field, and let
him win if Fate ordained it.
On Wednesday evenings it was generally understood that the boarders,
such at any rate as had no other engagements, would remain after supper
and gather in the little reception-room, till the dining-room was
cleared, spending the evening socially.
On such occasions Mrs. Wyman would generally volunteer a song,
accompanying herself if there was no one else to play. She had a thin,
strident voice, such as one would not willingly hear a second time, but
out of courtesy we listened, and applauded. The widow had one who fully
appreciated her vocal efforts, and this was herself. She always looked
pleased and complacent when her work was done.
It was on the first Wednesday after the Count's arrival that she induced
him to remain.
"Don't you sing, Count?" she asked.
"Very little, madam," he said.
"But you are an Italian, and all Italians are musical."
He uttered a faint disclaimer, but she insisted.
"Do me a favor--a great favor," she said, persuasively, "and sing some
sweet Italian air, such as you must know."
"No, I don't sing Italian airs," he said.
"What then?"
"I can sing 'Sweet Marie.'"
"I am sure we shall all be glad to hear it. I sometimes sing a little
myself--just a tiny bit."
"I shall like much to hear you, signora."
"I shall feel very bashful about singing to an Italian gentleman. You
will laugh at me."
"No, no, I would not be so rude."
"Then perhaps I may. Our friends always insist upon hearing me."
So at an early period in the evening she sang one of her routine songs.
I watched the Count's face while she was singing. I was amused. At first
his expression was one of surprise. Then of pain, and it seemed to me of
annoyance. When Mrs. Wyman had completed the song she turned to him a
look of complacent inquiry. She was looking for a compliment.
"Didn't I do horribly?" she asked.
"Oh, no, no," answered the Count, vaguely.
"It must have seemed very bad to you."
"No, no--"
"Do you think it was passable?"
"Oh, signora, I never heard anything like it."
"Oh, you naughty flatterer," she said, smiling with delight. "I am sure
you don't mean it."
"Indeed I do."
I was sitting next the Disagreeable Woman.
"The Count has more brains than I thought," she said. "I quite agree
with him."
"That you never heard anything like it?" I queried, smiling.
"Yes."
"Miss Ruth," I said to the young woman from Macy's, "do you never sing?"
"I used to sing a little in my country home," she admitted.
"What, for instance?"
"I can sing 'Annie Laurie'."
"Nothing could be better. It is a general favorite. Won't you sing it
to-night?"
"But I cannot sing without an accompaniment," she said, shyly.
"I am not much of a musician, but I can play that."
With a little more persuasion I induced her to sing. She had a pleasant
voice, and while I cannot claim for her anything out of the common on
the score of musical talent, she rendered the song fairly well. All
seemed to enjoy it, except Mrs. Wyman, who said, in a sneering tone:
"That song is old as the hills."
"It may be so," I retorted, "but the best songs are old."
"It was very good," said the Count, who really seemed pleased.
This seemed to annoy the widow.
"You are very good-natured, Count, to compliment such a rustic
performance," she said.
"But, signora, I mean it."
"Well, let it pass! She did her best, poor thing!"
"She is a nice girl."
"Oh, Count, she is only a young woman from Macy's. She was born in the
country, and raised among cabbages and turnips."
He seemed puzzled, but evidently regarded Ruth with favor.
Meanwhile, Prof. Poppendorf had listened attentively to the song of the
maiden on whom he had fixed his choice.
"Mees Ruth, you sing beautiful!" he said.
Ruth Canby smiled.
"You are very kind, Prof. Poppendorf," she said, gratefully.
"I like your singing much better than Mrs. Wyman's."
"No. You mustn't say that. She sings airs from the opera."
"I like better your leetle song."
By this time Mrs. Wyman had succeeded in extracting a promise from the
Count to sing.
"Dr. Fenwick," she said, "can't you play the accompaniment for the
Count?"
"What is the song?"
"'Sweet Marie'."
"I will do my best. I am not professional."
So I played and the Count sang. He had a pleasant, sympathetic voice,
and we were pleased with his singing.
"Oh, how charming, Count!" said Mrs. Wyman; "I shall never dare to sing
before you again."
"Why not, signora."
"Because you are such a musical artist."
"Oh, no, no, signora!" he said, deprecatingly.
He was persuaded to sing again, and again he pleased his small audience.
"Miss Blagden, won't you favor us with a song?" asked Mrs. Wyman, in a
tone of mockery.
"Thank you," said the Disagreeable Woman, dryly. "There is so much
musical talent here, that I won't undertake to compete with those who
possess it."
"Prof. Poppendorf, don't you ever sing?" asked the widow, audaciously.
"I used to sing when I was young," answered the Professor, unexpectedly.
"Then _do_ favor us!"
He seated himself at the piano, and sang a German drinking song, such as
in days gone by he had sung with Bismarck and his old comrades at the
university.
There was a rough vigor in his performance that was not unpleasant. No
one was more surprised than Mrs. Wyman at the outcome of what she had
meant as a joke.
"Really, Professor," said the Disagreeable Woman, "you are more
accomplished than I supposed. I like your song better than I did your
lecture."
Prof. Poppendorf removed his glasses, and we saw in his eyes a
suspicious moisture.
"Ah," he said, not appearing to hear the compliment, if it was a
compliment, "it brings back the old days. I have not sing that song
since I was at the university with Bismarck. There were twenty of us,
young students, who sang it together, and now they are almost all gone."
This ended the musical performances of the evening. After this, there
was conversation, and later Mrs. Gray provided ice-cream and cake. It
was Horton's ice-cream, and the plates were small, but we enjoyed it.
Before we parted, the Professor found himself sitting next to Ruth
Canby.
"Do you ever go to the theatre, fraulein?" he asked.
"Not often, Professor. I cannot go alone, and there is no one to take
me."
"I will take you, Mees Ruth."
The young woman from Macy's looked amazed. She had not dreamed of such
an invitation from him. Yet she was very fond of the stage, and she saw
no reason why she should not accept.
"You are very kind, Professor," she said. "I did not think you cared
for the theatre."
"I would like to go--with you," he said, gallantly.
"Then I will go."
"It will be like going with my grandfather," she thought.