The Democrat. (Scotland Neck, Halifax Co., N.C.) 1884-1896, 1892-11-24

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chimes all stopped.
Quietly, Miss Quivey walked into the
ladies toilet room, where the group Of
stenographers were noisily talking
shop wondering who would get the
next raise" and if his royal nibs''
would give them ''vacashe."
Out and away from it all walked the
young girl, humming as she hurried
down the street to the doorway marked
Entrance to the Elevated" " Up the
stairs she ran, running a scale at the
same time in a cow, sweet undertone,
each step 4 tone to her music-loving
fancy. She was soon in the train. On
on, on whiZZed the elevated, down
alleys and past the back windows of
houses Of all sorts and conditions. On,
on to where it was stiller and rents
were cheaper.
AT last our pretty little music box
left the elevated and, walking quickly
down a street, was soon climbing more
stairs in q flat" building Up, up she
went, not humming now, but going
softly down the hall and into a room at
the end.
Margaret Quivey was ScOtch-Irish-
American. Born of a musical family on
both sides, small wonder that her soul
vibrated to all melody. Her mother
had sung always, it seemed to Margaret
with the ease of bird. The father had
been an organist in their home town
and a musical composer. He had rec
crnized Margaret's gift and always
called her his little music-box. He died
without the means to show his precious
little music-box how to use her gift.
After the fathers death, Margaret
and the mother turned their faces to-
ward Chicago.
The mother gave piano lessons at the
conservatory, but OverwOrk caused
nervous prOstration, and it now became
Margaret's duty to care for the mother
They struggled on together. One of
the professors at the conservatory had
heard Margaret sing and said: 'Go to
Costello, the tenor"
So Margaret went daily to the office
to help her on her way to Costello.
How she struggled! How much the
lessons OF all sorts cost her. A wealthy
cOlOred family lived some blocks away
Margaret gave their little boy singing
lessons in the early mornings before
she went to the office.
She practiced nights, her mother
playing her accomplishments.
Lately an advertisement had appeared
in one of the leading dailies. Want
ed: A position as sOlOist in a church
choir; a soprano voice sweet and sym
pathetic"
Margaret's teacher told her she had
climbed to the point where she was
worth twenty-five dollars a Sunday, so
he had written the advertisement for
her. Day after day passed and no an
Swer came.
The night on which Margaret had
come back from the days weary grind
at the office, her mother held up a let
ter with a smile, saying: ''Perhaps it is
good news, daughter, for it looks like
Ferdinand Costellos writing''
1t was good news, for il said
Come to my rooms at your lunch
hour tomorrow and sing for Rev. j. c.
Gilbert and the musical committee of
his church. If you suit them, the po-
sition of soloist in their choir will be
yours. l remain, Yours respectfully,
''FERDINAND COSTELLO"
She went. The pastor was a music
lover and music connoisseur. She sang.
The last sweet sound died away, and
there was a stiffness in the room broken
at last by the low-toned voices of the
committee and the pastor.
1t seemed an age to the ambitious
little singer leaning against the piano
before the minister took her hand in his
and said:
We feel that your voice will be a
power for good among our people. We
want you"
SO Margaret took one step up.
There was a little ripple of excite
ment the next day at the office when
Miss Quivey walked up to the general
managers desk and told him she was
about to leave.
Mr.. Groovelet looked after her Won
deringly as she walked out of that most
wonderful of places, ''ouh office"
The years marched steadily on. Toll
ing, studious, climbing, struggling
years to Margaret. 1t was up hill all
the way to the singer.
Wider experience and broader cul-
ture were now hers.
The mother in the invalid chair had
journeyed by her side through these
years of study abroad Costello the
tenor had advised and directed and
never lost sight of her.
Then came dark days when the moth
er seemed to be slipping away before
Margaret's dream was realized.
When those days were past. there came
one never-to- be-forgotten time when
through nervous strain and anxiety the
little music-box suddenly became mute.
She sat at the piano, with her head
bowed in her hands, realizing how
precious her gift was to her and how
Slight was her hold upon it.
This cloud passed away and people
who heard Margaret sing in those days
listened with tears in their eyes at the
touching pathos of the singers voice.
At last, after years of trial and strug-
gle, years of careful training, the music
al star was to sing in Chicago, the
scene of early struggles.
Thanksgiving eve was the night
The Auditorium was a blaze of light
and life.
Outside there was the long process
sion of carriages blocking Congress
street and Michigan avenue. Inside
there were the throngs of people, many
beautiful women ,--..- - - toilets.