Rockhaven

by Charles Clark Munn

  CHAPTER XLII

  THE ROAD TO THE TEMPLE

  To Mona, reared beyond the world of wealth and social custom, the greatcity she was now in seemed a monster hive. An endless tangle of crowdedstreets, of pushing humanity, and towering buildings. The ceaseless dinof street cars and rumbling teams, the people who elbowed her aside asthey hurried on, the vehicles that halted not when she crosses a street,the grand ladies alighting from their carriages and sweeping by her asif she was without right; and worse than all these, the apes who ogledat her on the street, and even followed her to her home,--each and allbecame a teacher that taught her self-reliance. She grew to look at thegreat city as it did at her, without feeling and without interest. Theycared not for her right, or her life even; why should she for them? Itwas the best education possible, and imparted a certain indifferencetoward everybody and everything, and hardened her, in a way.

  Then Fritz, with his little scheme, entered into her education, and oneday, after he had asked her to play some of her best selections, astranger stepped out from an inner room to be introduced to her as themanager of the Alhambra Theatre.

  "My friend Geisling has told me about you, Miss Hutton," he said, "and Iwished to hear you play as you naturally would, so I asked to be kept inhiding to hear you. You have a decided talent, and if you have thecourage, I think you could do a musical turn and do it well. If you willcome to the Alhambra to-morrow at ten with my friend here, we will giveyou a rehearsal."

  And Mona felt as if she were at that moment facing an audience!

  "I have an ambition to play well, and some day in public," she saidfaintly, and hardly realizing how it all came about, "but not yet. Oh,no, I wouldn't dare," and she looked helplessly at her teacher.

  "Ah, Mees Hutton, but you vill," he said excitedly, "und your fader saidyou vill, und dat eet vas to be you broveshion, und you vill to bleaseme try, I dinks," and he placed one hand upon his heart and bowed low.

  "Oh, not yet, no! no!" exclaimed Mona, her heart sinking, as she stoodface to face with her longed-for opportunity. "I am not ready yet andhaven't the courage."

  "That is but a mere trifle, Miss Hutton," answered the manager, lookingat her saintlike eyes, her sweet face, rounded shoulders, and swellingbosom; and calculating their commercial value for stage purposes to anicety. "A mere trifle; you have the face and form, you play withexceeding grace and delicate expression, no doubt due to your nativetalent, and are sure to please. All you need is to forget that you areplaying to an audience, and you will win a storm of hands."

  Then, like a shrewd man of business, he began politely to question her.Where she came from, who taught her first, and how she came to wish toplay in public? In ten minutes he had grasped her entire history.

  "It is not necessary," he said finally, to reassure her, "that you makeyour first appearance at once. Come to the theatre to-morrow and look usover. I feel sure you will succeed and win for yourself a great name.And, by the way, I'd like a photograph of you in evening dress cut low."

  Then, as if the matter were all settled, and this new attraction for hisvaudeville stage already engaged, he bowed himself out.

  And Fritz beamed.

  "Ein grand chance, Mees Hutton, an' der great luck you haf, und it vasmein alretty yet," he said, "und you vill got de people crazy mit yourblayin', und I vas your teacher!"

  And he came near then and there going down on his knees and declaringhis passion.

  When Mona reached her home she was flushed and trembling withexcitement. "Oh, father," she said to Jess, "they want me to play at thetheatre, and to come to-morrow to try it with no one there; and he wantsmy picture, and I am scared half to death," which incoherent speech caneasily be excused.

  "I don't approve on't an' never have," said her mother, severely. "Itain't a girl's place to be fiddlin', an' 'fore people at that. I don'tbelieve in it."

  "Now, Letty," answered Jess, pleasantly, "don't go to discouragin' thegal first go-off. We've threshed that straw all over long 'go, 'n' don'tsay no more. The time'll cum, 'n' soon, too, when ye'll feel mightyproud of Mona. We'll fix ye up, girlie," he added, addressing her, "withone of them low-cut gowns,--not too low, but jist nice 'n'modestlike,--'n' we'll both o' us be thar to take keer on ye an' fetchflowers home fer ye." And that subject was disposed of.

  But Mona scarce closed her eyes in sleep that night, and when, withJess and her teacher to care for her, she entered the stage door of theAlhambra at ten the next day, a new world opened before her.

  Its entrance was a tangle of painted scenery, beautiful on one side,dirty and tobacco-stained on the other. A dozen stage carpenters andhelpers were at work with hats on, and never even looked at her. Thestage seemed a cold, cheerless barn, as large as the seating part, and achaos of stage properties of all sorts and shapes. A flat, painted treeleaned against a piano, on top of which was a wooden rock. A roll ofcarpet lay across a desk, and a coil of dirty rope and an imitationfireplace were on top of an elegant sofa.

  Then the manager appeared, coatless, but with hat on.

  "Ah, good morning, Miss Hutton," he said, not even noticing Fritz or heruncle; "glad to see you, though it's a little early. Look around andmake yourself at home, or I'll show you to a dressing room. We will hearyou play presently."

  And glad to escape from the cheerless spot, Mona signified that shewould wait his bidding in a private room.

  It was a half-hour ere he appeared, and Mona's stage training began.

  She was instructed how to step out from the wings, where to halt on thestage, how to bow, to step side-wise and backward; and when theselessons had been learned, the manager with a few friends and Jess andher teacher took seats in front, and she walked out once more with herviolin. She had expected to be badly scared, but it was all somatter-of-fact, and her deportment considered as of more importance thanher playing, that when it came to that it was the easiest of all.

  Twice she played the two selections Fritz had decided upon, the first, amedley of Scotch airs, and for an encore, the gem of all sheknew--"Annie Laurie."

  When she concluded each time, a sincere ripple of applause from thegroup of men composing her audience encouraged her.

  "She'll win 'em," asserted the manager, tersely, when Mona had retired,"if only she can go on once and not wilt."

  "I want you to come here daily for a week," he said to Mona, when shewas ready to leave, "and get used to this matter. Your playing isexcellent, and if you can forget the audience for ten minutes and do aswell, you are made!"

  But warmer encouragement came from Jess when home was reached that day.

  "I'm proud o' ye, girlie," he said, his face glowing and his eyesalight, "I'm proud o' ye, 'n' if ye'll fiddle as ye kin 'n' hold yerhead 'fore 'em, I'll shed tears o' joy. We'll rig ye up," he continued,"right away, an' all ye need to do is jist to say to yerself, 'I kin doit,' an' feel it, an' ye will."

  How easy to say, but alas, how hard to do!

  For a week Mona lived in a trance with only one thought, and that of theawful moment when she must perforce stand alone before that hydra-headedmonster--an audience.

  Sometimes her heart failed for a moment, and it seemed she could neverdo it; then a strain of the indomitable will that had come down to herfrom her Carver ancestors arose, and she said to herself, "I will."

  Then back of that lay another point of pride. "Perhaps _he_ will bethere to see me," she thought.

  For all these months, while she had silently fought her own heartache,Winn Hardy's face and words had been ever present.

  All the covert flatteries he had spoken in the cave, all the praises ofher playing, the description of the wonderful woman before whom theworld bowed, the tender words of love he had uttered, to end with onecold letter of dismissal, and she left to rise above and conquer herown pain alone and unaided, came back now.

  It was well that they did.

  And when the supreme moment of her trial came, and robed in spotlesswhite, without an ornament, save her matchless eyes, her perf
ect throat,her rounded arms, she stepped into view of that audience, not for oneinstant did she falter.

  The Alhambra was filled that evening with its usual gathering in searchof pleasure. A few hundred blase men and women who had seen everythingon the boards of the regular theatres now drifted into this, hoping fora new sensation. Twice as many more store girls whose escorts hadbrought them there because admission was cheap, and a medley of allsorts, old and young. The saucy balladist in short skirts had sung hersong, the soloist in black had picked off his banjo act, the acrobatshad leaped and twisted and turned, the magician pulled a stock ofworsted balls, a hoopskirt, and a rabbit out of a silk hat borrowed fromthe audience, and then, after frying an egg in it, returned it unharmed;and the usual vaudeville program was nearing its end when those listlesspeople saw Mona step out from the wings and, without once lifting hereyes to them, bow slightly, and raising her violin, begin playing.

  And even as Winn's heart had been touched by the wonderful sweetness ofher simple music that day in the cave, so were theirs reached now.

  It was not classic, or new, or unheard before--just a medley of old-timeScotch airs that carried the mirth of a merry dance and the mood oftender love. But the mirth and the mood were there, thrilling,quivering, whispering, even as a human voice would speak.

  And when the yearning of that medley ended its final appeal, and Monafor the first time raised her eyes to them as she bowed, a storm ofapplause that fairly shook the building greeted her.

  Again and again was it repeated, until, bending her queenlike head, sheonce more raised her violin.

  And now came "Annie Laurie."

  Slowly caressing her violin with her face, even as a mother would herbabe, Mona played.

  And every whispered heartache, every pulse of undying love that thatold, old song contains, came forth to reach and thrill the hearts ofthat audience as naught else could.

  When it was ended and Mona bowed low, what a storm came!

  Men rose and cheered and women, too, while they brushed the tears away.

  Again and again did that wave of stamping and voiced applause arise,till the very roof quivered, and still once again.

  And Mona, the poor child, whose will, stronger than love, had carriedher through that awful ordeal without a break, now out of sight, laysobbing in the arms of Jess.

  She had won her fame without a flaw, and then, womanlike, hadcollapsed.