Part 31 (1/2)
”I do hope I shall succeed,” she said again. ”I never had dreamed that a woman could accept all that I have taken from you, Dave. If this means that I shall have gained my independence, I shall be happy indeed, but I will always remember that the time I leaned upon you was made sweet and hopeful by your consideration and friends.h.i.+p. Come, David, it is time to go, I think. I feel that when I return, this evening, I may be able to express a little of what I owe you, and, then, thank G.o.d on my bended knees.”
”I shall be so proud to watch the dawning of your success and happiness,” I told her, with a catch in my throat.
”Yes, success would be splendid, Dave, but the happiness has been coming a long time. You brought me some of it in your pockets all last summer and gave it to me every week. Oh! Dave! G.o.d bless you!”
She put out her hand to me and looked deeply in my eyes. Her heart was very full, I know, but I felt that it was the grat.i.tude a woman could give to a beloved brother.
And so we went away, with a last kiss blown at Baby Paul and a thousand good wishes from Eulalie. The taxi I had ordered was at the door and drove first to Dr. Porter's, and then to Frieda's, who was waiting for us, a very shapeless bundle done up in an ample and all-concealing cloak. I was thankful that her head was bare, having dreaded some abomination in the way of a hat.
”Oof!” she exclaimed. ”My gown's horribly tight. Had to have the janitress come up to hook it in the back and I hope nothing gives way.
We're an awfully swell lot this evening. First thing you know they'll be talking about us in the papers, under the heading of Society News.”
She maintained an endless chatter, in which I discovered much method. It was evidently her purpose to keep Frances from getting nervous. Finally, we reached the concert hall, in which people were still crowding.
Richetti's circle of acquaintances is a vast and distinguished one and his concerts, few and far between, are events in the musical world.
Frances and Frieda stood on the sidewalk, while I was paying the driver.
”We are going in by another entrance, David,” she told me. ”You go and find your seats and possess your souls in patience. You will hear some excellent music. When I come on, don't make too much noise because it might distract my attention.”
I gave her my hand, which she pressed in a strong and nervous clasp that lasted for a fraction of a second, and then the two disappeared among the many people surging towards the doors.
For some minutes Porter and I stood at the back of the hall, as did many others, in order not to interrupt a duet between ba.s.so and soprano, most creditable to two young people, who retired with many bows and much approval from the audience. The young lady was quite collected and smiling, but the heavy-chested youth was blus.h.i.+ng and evidently glad to have pa.s.sed through the ordeal. Women, I think, average greater courage than men. In the interval before the next number we sought our places and I had but slipped my hat in the grooves beneath my seat when my nearest neighbor, a very charming young person, addressed me at once, and I recognized in her the little lady who had called me an old fogy at the Van Rossums.
”Why, how do you do, Mr. Lambley,” she said, and turned to a short and wide-shouldered youth who appeared to have taken the place of the six-footer. ”Freddy dear, I want to introduce Professor Lambley, who has written a great essay on Dionysius the Areopagite.”
The young man pushed an able hand towards me and grasped mine.
”How jolly!” he exclaimed. ”Something to do with aviation, isn't it?
I'm expecting to take it up soon.”
”How silly you are, Freddy,” the young woman reproved him, ”it's an awfully scientific thing.”
”Oh! Well, then, that lets me out,” acknowledged Freddy, conscientiously, ”but I think a lot of the fellows who work out those affairs. Knew a chap who was drowned at Montauk last summer, who was keen on bees and bugs. Queer Johnnie!”
Our scientific and literary symposium ceased abruptly. The accompanist came in and sat at the piano, being immediately followed by a young lady I remembered seeing in Richetti's rooms. My little neighbor applauded, frantically, as did most of the audience.
”Her father's worth two millions,” she informed me, ”and she thinks her voice is the biggest ever. Her hair doesn't naturally wave that way and she's got too much rouge on. Richetti didn't want her to go on yet, but she made her father insist.”
My own knowledge of the divine art of singing, as I have confessed a thousand times, amounts to little or nothing, but I found something pleasurable in listening to the plutocratic contralto. She was by no means embarra.s.sed and began the ”Angelic Voice” from _Gioconda_ in a most business-like fas.h.i.+on, finis.h.i.+ng amid a salvo of applause.
”There! I've gone and split my glove,” said the young lady beside me, ”but I just had to do it. I'm going to their house-party next week and the place is perfectly gorgeous.”
Next, as an encore, came ”He shall feed His flocks” from the _Messiah_, which received similar encomiums and the singer retired, smothered in flowers and followed by uproarious approval.
”Funny she should have selected that,” came the voice near me, ”seeing that her father made all his money in wool.”
In rapid succession came several other singers, all of whom appeared to impress the audience favorably. My heart was beginning to thump again in my breast, for the moment was approaching and I suffered from a vicarious stage-fright that could have been no greater had I myself been sentenced to appear upon the stage. It may be that the hall was overheated; at any rate I had to pa.s.s my handkerchief a number of times over my forehead, and my high collar began to choke me. I was grasping Porter's arm, convulsively, when, all of a sudden, before I could realize that the moment had come, she stood before the footlights, bowing before the moderate clapping of hands, and Richetti himself sat at the piano.