Bennington semi-weekly banner. (Bennington, Vt.) 1894-1902, 1896-01-17
IN A PRIVATE BOX.

renee / am about to relate l had never
been in his company elsewhere He used
to play chess There, and so did /, and our
acquaintance had been confined to chats
across tho checkered board. 1 was an en-
thusiast at the game, while he, though a
much stronger player, seemed to use chess
as solace for some trouble, or to divert
his mind from unpleasant thoughts. OF
this l was convinced.
Many months passed before l even knew
his name, which at last discovered to be
francesca Astarta. He was a decidedly
good looking Italian, about 80 years of
age, but his features already bore lines of
care or affection, | could never tell which.
1 always found him very variable in man
nor. Sometimes he would be almost aifa-
BILE, at others silent and mOrose, but there
was always dash of melancholy in his
conversation.
We met only at night, and / gathered
that he held some mercantile appointment
in tho city. He spoke almost perfect Eng
lish.
"Will you have game?" said one
evening as l took seat opposite to him at
one of the marble topped tables. 81 should
like to try that variation in the Ruy Lopez
again"
"No, thank you, he replied grufly. 81
am just going"
"You are not feeling unwell, l hopeY'
He certainly looked very pale and care
worn, but he gave no answer. A sickly
smile, half sneer, stole over his face.
A few minutes later he rose, put on his
hat and with curt Good night" strobe
toward the door. Then he suddenly stop
ped, came back and said:
81 am going to the Jollity Do you care
to come? have taken private box
quite alone"
Music halls, even when called theaters
of varieties, were not much to my taste,
but was disappointed of my chess, for
there was no other person present with
whom l cared to play, and, at any rate,
could come away from the Jollity when
was tired.
So l accepted his invitation, and we
strolled along the street together. He was
unusually silent, and as failed in several
attempts to get him into conversation at
length fell back on my thoughts.
What could induce man of his tenn
permanent to go to music hall, especially
in such q particularly unsociabe mOody
Sbulh ~ DbSHlblO tllthu bllb
would take his mind off his troubles?
That he had troubles, and serious ones,
could not for moment doubt. But what
most astonishod me was to find him in
dulging in the luxury of private box, for
l was sure that he was q man of slender
means. The ticket might have been given
to him, but he had distinctly said that he
had taken it, which meant "hired it.
Tho bright and brilliantly decorated
house was already crowded in many parts
when we took our seats and the entertain
ment had begun. A girl in an idealized
male attire was singing a song with II roll
licking chorus, and youths were grinning
with enjoyment at the same old jokes that
their fathers and grandfathers had relished
in days gone by.
Astarita looked horribly bored. He sat
at the back of the box in silence. Sud
denly he pulled his chair nearer to mine
and became communicative.
"You can't understand me" he said.
"YOu think l am not happy. Well, l am
not. And do you suppose this programme
is likely to cheer meY Come back out of
that noise. l will tell you story-a true
story-a page out of my own life."
The audience was applauding, and l
moved my chair into the interior of the
box.
MY father was an Italian
$50 should judge by your name"
interrupted.
eyes, but he died when 1 was very
young, and my mother was English. My
home was at Naples. When l was lad,
went into the Office of large firm OF
l. 1.
work for some years and was doing very
well. Then met the only woman ever
lOved-I must have been about 25-and
tho only woman believed to be worthy of
my devotion. All those were happy days!"
Astarita paused in his story and seemed
to DO dwelling on memories of the past.
"What was l saying?" he suddenly be-
gan again. "Ah, yes, l remember. Angela
knew of my love and returned it. There
was not "A shadow on our path-until an
English scoundrel, called Herbert Ross,
appeared on the scene. l never knew what
brought him to Naples but he came, and
while there, in an evil hour, met her-my
sweet Angela.
"That man, sir, had what the world
calls "a winning manner. He could talk
well, played the violin and was an amateur
Conjurer and ventriloquist. The world
loves a mountebank and there were plenty
Of fools in Naples ready to welcome him as
a guest The villain fascinated my Angela
-instilled into her desire to go on the
stage. He had influence with actors and
managers everywhere, and, as her parents
were dead, and she was living with
friends, he had no difficulty in getting her
an engagement.
"She was mad. But saw through his
scheme. He wanted to get her away from
me and persuade her to marry him. Yes,
he succeeded. Two years later she was his
wife-his wife-and lost to me forever"
The orchestra was playing loudly, and
drew my chair farther back
Can you not guess that it broke my
hearth l could not stay in Naples. came
to London. Only once since her marriage
have l seen Angela. met her in Picca.
dilly one day last August. We walked in
the Green park. 1t was tho happiest hour
have known since the old time in Naples.
SAT first she declared that she was hap
Ply, but do you not think could read Der
facet l told her did not believe her. She
wcpt and confessed that she was leading
miserable life. And how happy / might
have made herl Failed on the stage2 Yes,
but not only that. Her husband, who was
now professional entertainer, was cruel