The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1914-10-01

happy.
81 am so glad" she said.
"It's UP to me to do the best I can;
l owe 1t to you," there was grim de.
termination in Merry's voice; ito you
and Oswald, he's a prince of good
fellow; now Alice Volk and the child
come into it,"
"And yourself"
Eyes, myself. If succeed, it means
retrieving more than you imagine"
"And you will confess you wrote the
play?"
"Not-yet."
"Why?"
Miss Dorcas." Merry's voice had a
tone of entreaty in it, II want to ask
one thing of you. ask it because your
faith in me is SO great and uplifting.
Drop the authorship of the play. 1 can
not explain, cannot fight the thoughts
you have of me. You said once, I be.
lieve in you Do you remembers"
Dorcas looked at him with steadfast
eyes and nodded
go on believing. It's the kindest
thing you can do for me, and-for
Enoch."
Their eyes made a compact though
no word was spoken.
They fingered over strange dishes
that came and went. Food seemed
merely a circumstance, an excuse for
being alone and together. They felt
curiously isolated, for the noise made
retreat for them as silence does. A
sudden lull fell on the babel Of sound.
The orchestra, which had rested for
few minutes, began again-not one OF
it's long overtures, but a prelude to the
ford music in an Italian opera.
Through the murky atmosphere a
womans voice shrilled out with rare
sweetness.
Dorcas rose to her feet for Sec
ond, searching for the singer; then she
seated herself with her back to the
table. The crash of dishes, the rattle
of silver, and the popping of corks con-
tinued, but tongues were stilled except
for one voice. 1t was singing the
tremendous aria from "Ernani." The
girl drew a long breath as the last
note died away into silence then she
turned eagerly to Merry.
Who is she?"
I'll tell you in a minute"
She turned again to look at the
singer. who stood crushed into ma
row balcony which was crowded to
discomfort by piano and four mu-
sicians. The woman was absurdly fat
and absurdly gowned. Years ago. In
the palmy days Of concert tour, she
had swept upon the platform In robe
of burnt orange velvet splashed gor.
geously with silver lace and scintillat.
ing embroidery. 1t had seen years of
service, then grown tawdry, unfashion-
able, soiled, and grotesQuely queer. 1t
reminded Dorcas of the stately door in
its last stage of shabbiness. The
woman's straw-colored hair was gath
cred into a ridiculous pompadour.
Across the dining room, through muir
ky waves of tobacco smoke. the girl
could see careworn wrinkles about the
woman's eyes The vivid scarlet OF
her cheeks was pitifully false, false as
the whiteness of her vast, bare shout
ders. Again she began to sing, some
thing which came thrilling from the
wonderful throat with perfect colora-
tura. She threw back her head and
tilted her face till Dorcas saw only
the profile. For one moment the gross
lines disappeared; instead came a
glimpse Ct beauty and picturesqueness.
a dignity which belonged to the days
of youth and power. the royal days
Of singer.
The room rang with an encore, then
came a shrek Of command. "Dance!
shouted the group Of students in cor
ner.
"Oh!" cried Dorcas piteously. "oh!
how can they do it,"
The musicians huddled themselves
and their instruments closer together,
indifferently as IL it were part OF every
nights program. The pianist struck
a few bars of some tinkling thing in
a musical comedy, then the singer be-
gan to sway her huge body. There
was no space for her feet to move.
She sang to the accompaniment, but
the physical effort made her wleeze.
The orchestra dashed into tripping
chorus. and the enthusiasm Of the
guests waxed high. Cheers were inter-
mingled with laughter and screams OF
derision.
"Oh!" cried Dorcas. ooh! the shame
Of it,"
The singer sank in chair exhaust
ed, then she rose and pushed her way
down from the balcony. Dorcas
watched her with pit:ful gaze. Per-
spiration was washing white streaks
through the patches of rouge on her
cheeks.
who is the woman?" she asked.
twenty-five years ago her name
was famous from one end Of Italy to
the other. When she went to Genoa
to Ill an engagement the whole town
turned out to meet her, the shops
closed, and it was a public holiday.
The people pelted her with flowers
and screamed themselves hoarse in a
welcome. She was the star Of the
Bellini in Naples. She sang in Paris
and London. She came here. grew
sick and could not I'LL her engage
ments. A. manager went back on her,
she lost what money she had, friends
deserted her, she came down to
this"
"Ch, the poor soul!" Dorcas' voice