Wheeling register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1878-1935, 1895-12-20
THAT GIRL AT THE FAIR.
Hearts Won Against Money.
BY GRANT ALLEN.


love ry-go-rOunds."
We had come to that little French
town in the Pyrenees together IN search
Of rest and change" such as doctors
prescribe to one when they want to go
ont Of town themselves at the end of
the season. and are anxious TO get rid
of their own remaining patients on some
decent preteXt.
So we went out to the fair. very
French said the manager. For my
own part thought only, VERY human
and familiar!'
For a fair IS a fair the wide world
over. here were the self same stalls,
with the selfsame trinkets, as in our
native villages; there were the identical
gilt gingerbreads as stale as ever, and
the marvellous sights, as delusive as in
our infancy. All was noise and hustle
and t:nsel and parliamentary like
every other fair in the world, from
England to Kamschatka,
Very different from that kick-up we
saw at Cairo, eh?" the manager observ-
ed sharply, for he has the eye for differ
ence.
The manager, with the instinct Of his
kind. made straight for a certain booth,
where lady in Spangles Of historical
charms, was posing outside n very
dirty tights, while a gentleman with
a big drum was alternately banging it
and requesting the dubious and dubita-
tive public to walk up, walk upr' in
very choice French, with strong pro-
y.ncia accent.
We entered and took our seats on
the reserved benches. Three woe-be-
gone ladies, in very painful skirts,
stood disconsOlate on the stage, and dis
coursed TO one another in somewhat
| hoarse voices. A ruffian, with a most
villa:n0us and sensous face, just be-
hind us, leaned over toward us with
cOndescending contidece
"Elee va entrer," he whispered; Shes
just going to come on" And, as he
spoke. She entered.
We saw in a moment why he said
She so emphatically The other three
women wore that dreary expression Of
settled unhappiness one so often sees
on the faces of the lower type of stroll
ling actresses-failures and outcasts of
Their precar:ous profession. But She
! was quite different. She wore an eX-
| preston of radiant Joy and triumph on
face Of singular charm and archness.
She was dressed as a Catalonian peas
ant girl-the Californian peasant girl Of
stage life, at least-and she carried in
her hand guitar, which she began to
finger at once with great skill and
delicacy. Then she stood forward and
sang
Her voice, her dance, her gestures,
her acting. had the last touch of art;
she was enhancing. exquisite. Tho
manager turned TO me, delighted.
This is wonderful" he said, "glor-
ious. The girls worth a hundred
| pounds a week | shall offer her 90"
The girl sang and sang. She waved
/ her guitar, with its red and yellow rib
bons; she flung her arms about grace>
| fully; she threw into her part all the
| bravado and Self-display of the Spanish
nature. She was Spain at a glance-Jne
/ Spanish soul, the Spanish temperament
/ in its inmOst veracity.
How did she ever get into this gall
I ley, | wonder? Upon my soul. Wilkins,
| she's worth 600 week tell you. Why,
/ I'd go to 30r'
She is Spanishdom pushed to the
/ point of genius, replied
Full of impasto, | answered. don't
/ know what that means but l observe it
is fashionable to the present day to APP
| ply the technical terms of one art quite
| anonymously to another, and | thought
it probable my cieyerness would inn
press the manager.
He looked at me with a puzzled smile,
but | kept my cOunuenanCe. and he an
swered confidently: THE very word,
my dear fellow. That's just it! Such
impasto. What a critic you are. Will
kins! She's iull of the-er-most deli
/ cate-and refined-impastow He rolled
the word on his tongue as if he loved
the flavor of it.
The girl finished her song, and then
the villain entered. The villain-well.
he was just the Old familiar villain on
whom we We're all brought up from our
earliest childhood. The managers
eyes closed. BY and by the rufian be-
hind us leant forward once more.
Ellie va rentrer," he murmured; and
at the word she re-entered.
During the rest of that piece had al
most, metaphOrically to hold the man
ager down by the coat tails.
'Draw?" he cried. Shed draw!
Why, Cissie wouldn't be in it! What
audacity! What bravado What art!
I What-ahem-impasto"
And her chairoscuro," l cried. Her
perspective, Her anatomy Her tex
lures! Her perfect insight into the
laws of opticsr'
The manager glanced sideways al
me. | am the most innocent of men.
but really believe he suspected me Of
chatting him.
'Impasto's good enough" he said dry
ly; Il won't go beyond impasto."
And he stuck at impasto-pOint the
rest of that evening.
When all was over and the villain run
through. and the comic inn-keeper i'm
prisoned. and triumphant Virtue, in red
and yellow kirtle, made over in holy
matrimony to courage and patience. as
the reformed smuggler, we ventured to
ask for an introduction to the first lady.
The first lady came forward. some>
what imperfectly cad but still radiant
ly happy in her youth and beauty.
The manager approached her with
managerial indirectness. Had she ever
thought of going to London or Paris.
The radiant creature, still smiles, re-
piled, Yes, she had thought of it; but
that was all over; she had refused as
much as 500 francs week; she prefer
red the liberty Of vagrancy and the pro-
vinces."
How much IS 500 francs?" the man
ager asked. turning round to me- He