The Bamberg herald. [volume] (Bamberg, S.C.) 1891-1972, 1907-03-28
Won by aVio|in.
By EPES w. SARGENT.
Copyright, 1906, by p. c. Eastment.

Award clambered up through the trap
leading from the music room with the
same intolerable feeling of disgust that
always filed his soul when it came
time to take his place beside the leader
Of the Odeon orchestra.
He hated it all, the endless process
sion Of sidewalk comedians, serio COM
les, sketch artists, trained dogs and al!
the other component parts of the
vaudeville show.
He had come to America fresh from
the conservatory, with visions OF a
concert tournee that should make him
famous. They told him that America
was land Of money; that there peo-
pie sat up nights for an opportunity to
hear some great artist.
Instead, he had discovered that only
those heralded by a skillful promoter
stood any chance. He was glad to get
an occasional engagement for some
small concerts, and even these grew
less and less frequent as the season
Waned.
Then had come that awful time
when, penniless and hungry, he faced
the realization that he could never hope
for success. He was too proud to 60
back home failure, and he thankfully
accepted an opening in concert hall.
where he, q pianist and cornet player
comprised the orchestra.
Benson had found him there one
night when be dropped in to see the
proprietor. Benson had played violin
there himself before he had become a
bandmaster, with a blue and gold band
at a summer resort, and he dropped In
at intervals for old tines sake.
He called Award over to his table and
offered him q place in his orchestra in
the fall, when the season opened, 80
ever since September Award had sat
beside Benson playing first violin. he
loathed it all, but it was better than
the concert hall, anu he was grateful.
But this afternoon he was gloomy.
A great artist one with whom he had
studied, was giving a matinee, and
some one had told him how the people
were thronging to the hall. Their
master had declared Award to be the
better, yet Herman drew the crowds.
Monday was always a bad day. The
music sheets, some Of them yellow
with age and filthy with dirt were
hard to read. Rehearsal had been
more or less of a farce, and he scarcely
noticed the performance. Then sud-
denly a voice broke on his ears. and
he looked up in wonder.
A mere girl stood in the CLEAN Of the
spot light. She could not be more than
sixteen or seventeen, but from her
throat there poured tones Of crystal
purity. The voice was unplaced and
unschooled, but she had natural gift
for singing, and her tones had not yet
become hardened through overwork.
The. music thrilled him through and
through, and once or twice he broke In
his accompaniment. Long after she
left the stage she still occupied his
thoughts, and as he started to leave
the theater after the matinee she con-
fronted him at the top Of the stairs.
"What did you crab my act for?' she
demanded.
T am sorry, mademoiselle," he said,
with humility: "But such voice-in
vaudeville. The surprise was too
great. I faltered."
ut looked as If you were scared" she
agreed, mollified at the compliment.
"But don't you do it again"
81 protest that I shall offend no
more" he assured, and she turned to
the elderly woman who hovered in the
background.
"Come on, ma," she called. He
didn't do it a-purpose. knocked him
of his pins; that's all. Come on"
She passed out Of the stage door, and
Award followed slowly. Into his life
love had come. He could forgive the
uncouth speech for the sake Of the
voice, and Gertie Clayton, 'phenom-
inap' (she invariably misspelled the
world soprano, had become goddess
to him.
All that week he drank in the flute
like tones, as a drunkard imbibes his
tipple. Saturday night, when the en-
gagement closed, he left single rose.
perfect in it's loveliness, with the door
keeper, to be given her as she left.
She was gone when the show was
over, and he hurried to the doorkeeper
for his report
what did mademoiselle say" he de-
manded eagerly.
'stingy,'" grinned the unsympathet-
ic soul, and Award slowly passed out.
But the slight was forgotten the next
day, and only the memory Of that per-
feet voice remained. From the press
agent he begged one Of her photo
graphs, and when he came home at
night tired and disheartened, he looked
upon her youthful face and seemed to
hear again the liquid sweetness OF her
singing.
It was several months before she
came again. Award feared that per