The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1898-09-02

"Butth poor girlsl'' her companion
began. Glow about all the poor girls
who are endeavoring to obtain hear
ing? Don't you think it is rather selfish
of you to seek to crowd them out?'
Priscilla's rosy chin was lifted very
high indeed "Ungenerous, " she cried
superbly. "Why, poor or rich, should
voice be denied its opportunity to be
heard?''
''That is not original, he remarked
rather daringly. "Its too stilted from
you. Your friends have said that to
you, and you repeat it.
Perhaps" admitted Priscilla.
81 am going to tell you story, the
other began.
ooh, do. please" begged Priscilla
"But before begin must tell You
my name" He drew from his coat
pocket neat russia leather case sur
mounted by modest monogram in sill
yer letters, replaced the case, buttoned
his ulster, and lifting his cap handed
Priscilla his card.
"Union club"
81 am lawyer" asserted Storm
mouth.
"Thanlz you," said Priscilla indiffer-
emily. CHOW the story, please. Oh, per-
haps you would like to know my name.
1t is Priscilla Delno. My father is Judge
Delno of the supreme court. My mother
was born and brought up in Newburg. "
"Nice place, Newburg," suggested
Stornmouth.
II think it's a perfect hole," an
nounced Priscilla conclusively.
Stornmouth's eyes twinkled. 81 met
your father once, he remarked. eff
you write to him, remember me to him.
He won suit for me in regard to my
fathers estate 1t made a vast difference
to me. have every reason to remember
your father. -
Dads a brick, % remarked Priscilla
unexpectedly. He understands me per-
fectly."
81 should think most bricks would
understand you, returned Stornmouth.
"Why?" asked Priscilla wicledly.
To continue" said Stornmouth,
with my story. 1t is about girl who
five years ago, like you, started out to
sing in grand opera. She was the sweet
est little thing with the bluest eyes and
the happiest rosy facet She was poor,
though, so she was DESTROYS of singing
for living. Poor childi" He checked
himself abruptly and clinched the hand
which was tucked in between the but
tons of his ulster. He scowled.
"Don't look SO uglyl" cried Priscilla,
who was watching him narrowly, her
radiant speaking face alert with the in
terest the subject held for her. "What
became Of her?"
She's dead" muttered Stornmouth.
"Dead?" she asked in shocked
voice.
"Heartbroken. I"
But why?"
"Why?" echoed Stornmouth. "I'll
tell you why. She thought, like you,
that all she had to do was to sing; that
all she had to struggle against she could
win through prayer and pluck; that life
was fair fight, the battle fought with
open doors, the result just reward for
merit. She found, child'-Priscilla'
countcnance had paled visibly; one lit
tie hand had grasped the railing; he
continued less violently that she must
crush out every natural desire, every
evidence OF spontaneity, every thought
OF hope, for the first was misunderstood,
and the second was dubbed heart, not
art. She would have been more than
human to believe she could succeed in
spite of facts which were exemplifed
ia the broken, ruined lives of her
friends, who were spent upon as dire a
rack as saints were wrenched upon in
the inquisition.
"Was anything the matter with her
voice?" asked Priscilla
stornmouth laughed bitterly. "No.
1t was as rich as the voice of n thrush