UNEXPECTED HONORS.
The next morning at breakfast, Professor Riccabocca handed Philip a
copy of the Wilkesville Daily Bulletin. Pointing to a paragraph on the
editorial page, he said, in a tone of pride and satisfaction:
“Read that, Mr. de Gray.”
It ran thus:
“We congratulate the citizens of Wilkesville on the remarkable
entertainment which they will have an opportunity of enjoying this
evening at the Music Hall. Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca, whose fame as
an elocutionist and dramatic reader has made his name a household word
throughout Europe and America, will give some of his choice recitals
and personations, assisted by Philip de Gray, the wonderful
boy-musician, whose talent as a violin-player has been greeted with
rapturous applause in all parts of the United States. It is universally
acknowledged that no one of his age has ever equaled him. He, as well
as Professor Riccabocca, will give but a limited series of
entertainments in this country, having received flattering inducements
to cross the Atlantic, and appear professionally in London, Paris, and
the chief cities of the Continent. Fifty cents is the pitiful sum for
which our citizens will have it put in their power to hear this
wonderful combination of talent. This secures a reserved seat.”
Philip read this notice with increasing amazement.
“What do you think of that, Mr. de Gray?” asked the professor
gleefully. “Won’t that make Wilkesville open its eyes, eh?”
“It has made me open my eyes, professor,” said Philip.
“Ha, ha!” said the professor, appearing amused.
“How soon are we to sail for Europe?” asked Philip, smiling.
“When Queen Victoria sends our passage-money,” answered Riccabocca,
laughing.
“I see that your name is a household word in Europe. Were you ever
there?”
“Never.”
“Then how can that be?”
“Mr. de Gray, your performances have been greeted with applause in all
parts of the United States. How do you explain that?”
“I don’t pretend to explain it. I wasn’t aware that my name had ever
been heard of a hundred miles from here.”
“It has not, but it will be. I have only been predicting a little. The
paragraph isn’t true now, but it will be some time, if we live and
prosper.”
“But I don’t like to be looked upon as a humbug, professor,” said
Philip uneasily.
“You won’t be. You are really a fine player, or I wouldn’t consent to
appear with you. The name of Riccabocca, Mr. de Gray, I may truthfully
say, is well known. I have appeared in the leading cities of America.
They were particularly enthusiastic in Chicago,” he added pensively. “I
wish I could find a paragraph from one of their leading papers,
comparing my rendering of the soliloquy in ‘Hamlet’ to Edwin Booth’s,
rather to the disadvantage of that tragedian.”
“I would like to read the notice,” said Philip, who had very strong
doubts as to whether such a paragraph had ever appeared in print.
“You shall see it. It will turn up somewhere. I laid it aside
carefully, for I confess, Mr. de Gray, it gratified me much. I have
only one thing to regret: I should myself have gone on the stage, and
essayed leading tragic roles. It may not be too late now. What do you
think?”
“I can tell better after I have heard you, professor,” answered Philip.
“True, you can. Mr. de Gray,” continued the professor, lowering his
voice, “notice how much attention we are receiving from the guests at
the tables. They have doubtless read the notice of our evening
entertainment.”
Philip looked round the room, which was of good size, and contained
some thirty or more guests, and he saw that the professor was right.
He met several curious glances, some fair ladies expressing interest as
well as curiosity, and his face flushed.
“Gratifying, isn’t it?” said the professor, smiling.
“No, I don’t think it is,” answered our hero.
“Why not?” demanded Professor Riccabocca, appearing amazed.
“If all were true, it might be,” replied Philip. “As it is, I feel like
a humbug.”
“Humbug pays in this world,” said the professor cheerfully. “By the
way, there’s another little paragraph to which I will call your
attention.”
Philip read this additional item:
“We understand that Professor Riecabocca and Mr. Philip de Gray have
received a cable despatch from the Prince of Wales, inviting them to
instruct his sons in elocution and music, at a very liberal salary.
They have this proposal under consideration, though they are naturally
rather reluctant to give up the plaudits of the public, even for so
honorable a position.”
“Professor Riccabocca,” said Philip, considerably annoyed by this
audacious invention, “you ought to have consulted me before publishing
such a falsehood as this.”
“Falsehood, Mr. de Gray? Really I’m shocked! Gentlemen don’t use such
words, or make such charges.”
“You don’t mean to say it’s true that we have received any such
telegram?”
“No; of course not.”
“Then why didn’t I use the right word?”
“It’s an innocent little fiction, my young friend—a fiction that will
do no one any harm, but will cause us to be regarded with extraordinary
interest.”
Here the thought occurred to Philip that he, the future instructor of
British royalty, had only just escaped from a poorhouse, and it seemed
to him so droll that he burst out laughing.
“Why do you laugh, Mr. de Gray?” asked the professor, a little
suspiciously.
“I was thinking of something amusing,” said Philip.
“Well, well! We shall have cause to laugh when we play this evening to
a crowded house.”
“I hope so. But, professor, if we keep together, you mustn’t print any
more such paragraphs about me. Of course, I am not responsible for what
you say about yourself.”
“Oh, it will be all right!” said Riccabocca. “What are you going to do
with yourself?”
“I shall practice a little in my room, for I want to play well
to-night. When I get tired I shall take a walk.”
“Very wise—very judicious. I don’t need to do it, being, as I may say,
a veteran reader. I wouldn’t rehearse if I were to play this evening
before the president and all the distinguished men of the nation.”
“I don’t feel so confident of myself,” said Philip.
“No, of course not. By the way, can you lend me fifty cents, Mr. de
Gray?”
“Certainly.”
“I don’t want to break a ten.”
Professor Riccabocca didn’t mention that the only ten he had was a
ten-cent piece.
Slipping Philip’s half-dollar into his vest pocket, he said carelessly:
“We’ll take this into the account when we divide the proceeds of the
entertainment.”
“Very well,” said Philip.
He went up to his room and played for an hour or more, rehearsing the
different pieces he had selected for the evening, and then, feeling the
need of a little fresh air, he took a walk.
In different parts of the town he saw posters, on which his name was
printed in large letters.
“It seems almost like a joke!” he said to himself.
Just then he heard his name called, and, looking up, he recognized a
young fellow, of sixteen or thereabouts, who had formerly lived in
Norton. It seemed pleasant to see a familiar face.
“Why, Morris Lovett,” he exclaimed “I didn’t know you were here!”
“Yes; I’m clerk in a store. Are you the one that is going to give an
entertainment tonight?”
“Yes,” answered Philip, smiling.
“I didn’t know you were such a great player,” said Morris, regarding
our hero with new respect.
He had read the morning paper.
“Nor I,” said Philip, laughing.
“Are you going to Europe soon?”
“It isn’t decided yet!” Philip answered, laughing.
“I wish I had your chance.”
“Come and hear me this evening, at any rate,” said Philip. “Call at the
hotel, at six o’clock, and I’ll give you a ticket.”
“I’ll be sure to come,” said Morris, well pleased.