Part 5 (1/2)
”Dr. Maccanfrae, physician and philanthropist, missionary and moralist, and the dearest man in the world, besides,” she replied. ”He does more good in a day than twenty Poor Boards do in a week, and has more genuine Christian charity in his soul than a score of average parsons, although he is an evolutionist and a pantheist combined.”
”A most flattering description,” said Duncan. ”I hope he deserves such adulation.”
”He certainly merits it all,” added Wainwright.
Dr. Maccanfrae entered the box and Walter Sedger improved the opportunity to slip away and visit some friends. The Doctor spoke to Mrs. Sanderson, then moved toward the corner occupied by Florence Moreland, while Duncan dropped quietly into the seat left vacant by Mr.
Sedger.
”What can bring so industrious a man as Dr. Maccanfrae to the opera?”
said Florence as the Doctor took the seat beside her.
”The opera itself, Miss Florence. I am devoted to music and never lose an opportunity of hearing it well rendered. Isn't Tamagno doing grandly to-night?”
Her reply was interrupted by the appearance of a tall, plainly dressed woman, who, pencil and paper in hand, entered the box door. Her face was refined, though careworn, and bore the mark of better days. She hesitated for a moment, as though realizing fully her intrusive calling, then advanced toward Duncan. ”May I ask you, sir, to give the names of your party for the _Morning Stentor_?” she finally said.
”What does she mean?” said Duncan, turning to Mrs. Sanderson for an explanation.
”It is one of the peculiarities of Chicago life,” she replied. ”It is for to-morrow's society column.”
”And do you give them the information?” he asked.
”O, yes, it is better to have it right, as they publish it anyway, right or wrong,” she replied, and then she told the reporter the names.
”Might I trouble you to describe your dress?” was the next question asked. ”I am sorry to be so intrusive, but it is the city editor's orders, and we have to do the best we can.”
”You are a woman, and understand such matters, so I think you had better do that yourself,” Mrs. Sanderson replied.
The reporter thanked her and withdrew. When she had gone Duncan said wonderingly: ”We have society reporters in New York, but they never go quite so far as to ask one to describe oneself. Who reads such particulars anyway?”
”Ask Dr. Maccanfrae, he is wiser than I,” she replied.
”Dr. Maccanfrae, who should you say read the society columns of the newspapers?” he asked.
”People who expect to find their names in print, and people who think their names ought to be in print, to say nothing of those who read society columns, as they do society scandals, in order to get a reflection of the tinsel and tarnish of an unknown world.”
”That must include a great portion of newspaper readers,” replied Duncan.
”Precisely; that is why society scandals and fas.h.i.+ons occupy so large a portion of our papers,” the Doctor replied. ”But there comes the conductor, so I must get back to my place.”
”Won't you remain here, Doctor?” said Mrs. Sanderson.
”No, I thank you. I only came in to pay my respects, and, as I have a musical friend with me, I must get back to him.”
The Doctor hurried away and the little man away down in front lifted his baton. Ninety musicians watched the beat of the first bar, and, as the baton fell, sixty bows moved in unison, and trumpets, horns, trombones, and reeds, added their strains, while the act drop slowly rose disclosing the great stage, gorgeously set as Otello's audience-chamber.
”I must tell you an amusing tale about 'Otello,'” whispered Mrs.
Sanderson to Duncan Grahame. ”I was in Rome when the opera was brought out there, and went with the American minister and his wife. Revere was their name and they came from Tallaha.s.see. He had been a congressman, but she had never been away from home until she went as the wife of our representative in Austria, so you can imagine her ignorance of the world. She watched the opera quietly until she noticed that the black Otello bore some relation to the white Desdemona. That made her hem and fidget, but when Otello embraced his wife, she put up her fan in disgust, and said indignantly to me: 'How outrageous! I a.s.sure you such conduct would not be tolerated in Tallaha.s.see.'”
Grahame laughed, and then they listened to the grand music of Verdi for a while, but it was not the opera which inspired their interest, for the subtle spell of similarity seemed to arouse the sympathy of kindred taste. Bright phrases and pleasing words flashed between them, and quickly another act pa.s.sed. Again the people rose and talked, again visitors came to the box and uttered conventional insipidities. Finally Roswell Sanderson himself returned. He had pa.s.sed the evening in the manager's office with some friends, but his wife did not even express a curiosity to know it. The curtain rose on the last act. ”Come,” said Wainwright to Duncan, ”we must go back to our seats. Good-night, Mrs.