Gilpin observer., 1920-02-26

ldCcS.
At the first words Of the old song.
the noise broke out afresh, and some
called insistently for the hook, but the
high voice Of the Dispenser of Doom
in the gallery called, "Shut up; give
her show" and the noise died down.
She was no longer frightened, and the
golden voice rang through the theater {:
Saddle my horses and call out my men,
Open the west gate and let me go free
Where there's room for the bonnets
of bonny Dundee.
At the end of the verse, a pause, and
then came crash Of applause, re-
peated again and again. One malcon-
tent called "Aw, the hook" but twenty
voices roared, Drop on yourself"
She sang her song through, and at
its close there came a whirl Of hand
clapping, stamping, and the gallery
boys whistle, high-pitched, and a rain
Of coins.
Clarsie turned and walked blindly
toward the exit, but the manager stop
ped her.
go back and bow and take your
encore" he said. you've made good !;
don't you hear them? Go back and
pick up your money"
Shaking with revulsion, fighting hard
to keep down hysteria, she turned
again, bowed right and left, and sang
again-and again the crash Of hand
clapping.
"Pick up your money" called friend
ly voices. "Pick 1t up, take your time,
get 1t all; it's yours; 1t belongs to
you; don't be bashful."
She picked up the money till her
hands were full. and. taking hint
from poor Barney. she took off her
shabby little sailor hat and poured the
coins into it. Then, smiling and crying
together, she bowed again and stum-
bled Off.
A strong hand caught her and she
heard. all faint and far, the white
hussar saying, "Get drink of water,
somebody. Don't you see she's dying?"
mo, I'm not" said Clarsie. "I'll-
I'll be all right soon."
Guess you WILL" said the other.
you're all right; first prize for you.
All you wanted was to be woke up,
but you'd be there yet, planted, If 1
hadn't fired the quarter at you and
got you going.
Here" she continued, "let me tie
your dough in your handkerchief"
"Not-not-that quarter" stammer-
ed Clarsle; 'T-I-want that to keep"
WELL" said the white hussar, I'm
going. Good night I"
She gave her strong handclasp,
and staggered off.
ClarsIe turned to a boy in the line
and asked. who is that?"
what" said he, don't you know?
That's Lola Rivers. She owns the show
that was playin' here tonight. She's
bird; makes ten thousand dollars
year with her show"
Through the wet streets Clarsie
stumbled homeward, in dream. The
hard bundle of coins she held tightly.
First. at little oyster-house, she ate,
breaking fourteen hours fast. Then.
TO her room, where she counted her
earnings. Seven dollars and sixty-five
cents, and five dollars first prize, not
much to you, perhaps, who read this,
but to her the gift of life, Of shelter
and food for month to come.
Next day. she met the dragon of the
urnished-roOm-house without shrink
ing. and paid her. She still felt weak
and sick and remained indoors all day
to rest.
AS dusk was falling there came a
stately step up the rickety stairs and
knock at her door.
"Cnn l come in?" asked a voice that
she knew well, though heard for the
first time the night before.
She opened the door, and, all tremu-
lous with timid gratitude, she ushered
Lola Rivers into her room.
If Lola had looked tall In her hus-
sar dress, she looked taller In the little
room. Her head seemed almost to
touch the ceiling. Her presence seemed
to fill the mean room with light and
warmth. She was magnificent and ar
rayed like the lilies of Solomon.
She sat on the edge OF the bed.
looked long at Clarsie, and said:
you made good last night. You've
got the voice, and know how to use It.
Good singing Is always a paying act,
and all you need is to learn acting
and dancing, and that I'll teach you
myself. I'll take chance on you, and
take you out with me. and pay you-
yes-Tll pay you twenty-five week
this season, and II you don't get the
swelled head and are willing to learn.
there's no reason why, In two years,
you shouldn't be on Broadway. All my
girls get there in time. What do you
sayT
What did Clarsie say2 II Mansfield
said to supe: You shall support me
next season." If Kipling said to you !:
my boy, that's n good story of yours.