Idle Hour Stories Part 9

The prima donna was not rich. She supported her own old father and mother, and was educating her brother for a grand tenor. With one of those quick impulses born of heaven, she ordered the driver to descend from his box and throw open the carriage. When the roof parted and the sunshine came flooding down upon her, the singer faced the crowd that had been steadily gathering for ten minutes, eager to see the Signora Cavada, whose voice was the most jealously guarded jewel of her store.

For she had been recognized by a chance pa.s.ser-by.

Suddenly there stole on the air a divine strain that caused a hush as by magic to fall upon the restless groups. Louder, sweeter, stronger, more entrancing it rose, then sunk to the whispering cadence of a sigh.

The old man's hands were crossed before him, and tears poured down his withered cheeks. Ere the charmed listeners realized that the voice had ceased, the singer gave the poor supplicant a coin, and waving him toward the crowd, which was increasing every moment, said,--

"Tell them I will sing again."

The old man went from one to another till the worn hat grew so heavy that he had to carry it in his arms. Money for his needs, money for his dear little girl. Then the signora sang again; when about to depart she scribbled an address which she handed the bewildered man, and drove on to her hotel.

What a Christmas was that! And what a feeling of happiness filled her heart! And the duenna said nothing.

A day or two later the beggar and his grandchild appeared at the private entrance of the hotel where the signora was sojourning. The paper he carried in his hand was a pa.s.sport, and he soon stood in her parlor.

He was dressed in a neat new suit, and the child was as sweet as a wild rose.

"Come and kiss me, little one," said the beautiful lady. "I want to hear you sing."

Unappalled by the richness of the apartment, and conscious only the kindness shown her, the child, who was about twelve years old, sang one of the popular street ballads of the day.

"Santa Maria!" exclaimed the signora, who always e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed in her own tongue. "But you have a treasure here, my friend! The child is a wonder.

This voice must be trained--we will see--we will see."

Touching an electric bell, she summoned a messenger and hastily wrote a line which she gave him. During the boy's absence she questioned the strange pair in whom she felt so absorbing an interest, and gathered what there was to tell of their daily life. Their neighbors were kind, and the women exercised a sort of motherly care over the little girl; but the very best there was to know seemed bad enough, and the singer shuddered as she imagined the dreariness of such poverty as their's.

In answer to the call a young man stood before her.

"Beppo," she said, "your fortune is made; look at that old man." She spoke in Italian, and the face of the artist, for such he was, lit up with enthusiasm, as he marked the striking head and face of the person indicated. "Your model for the Beggar of San Carlo," continued the lady.

Beppo Cellini, at the bidding of his countrywoman, at once made terms with the old man to sit to him for his great Academy picture.

The little girl, whose voice now commands thousands of dollars on the operatic stage, was placed under training at the joint expense of her benefactress and two other artist friends.

The old man, Signor Beppo's model, is at rest now, but he still lives in the "Beggar of San Carlo." And the Signora Cavada, among all the good deeds of her charitable career, has never known a truer thrill of happiness than she experienced on her American Christmas Day.

Turning the Tables

A PRACTICAL STORY

There was great commotion in the kitchen of a large seaside hotel not many miles from Long Branch. A commotion in fact, that struck dismay to the heart of the proprietor, who, upon visiting the store-room near by, was caught and detained, an invisible listener to the uproar.

"I 'clar ter gracious!" screamed the fat, colored cook, "I aint a-gwine ter stan' it no longer! Po' white trash a-layin' up in bed all mornin,'

an' den it's eggs! Eggs biled, eggs scrabbled, an' homilies (omelettes) tell yer can't res' nohow! I'se mazin' tired of it all, I tell yer! I'se gwine ter quit--I is!"

"You'se gwine ter quit--you is! I speck! I'm done heerd dat talk eber day dis month," jeered cook number two. "Ef you quits you kin jest bet yer bottom dollar I aint a-gwine to stay. Got more'n I kin do now--I is."

"An' what yer reckon dis chile's goin' ter do den?" pertly chimed in the mulatto kitchen maid. "I'm got all de runnin' roun' ter do, an' yer kin jist bet I don't have no easy time. Quit as quick as yer please--all of yer--I'll go 'long wid de crowd!" and with a toss of her woolly bangs, she dumped a pan of potato peelings out at the door.

"Dry up! dry up!" broke in the head waiter, appearing on the scene in true autocrat fashion. He boasted of "right smart book learnin'," and was a recognised power in the land. "You don't have no trouble at all to what I do. It's run here, there and everywhere, all in a minute, with a dozen blockheads to look after. And it's precious few tips I get here, I promise you! I never see as stingy a lot o' people in all my born days. Say! you there, Jim! fetch that tray along! What are you gapin'

at, n.i.g.g.e.r?"

"Don't you n.i.g.g.e.r me, you black dude!" retorted the darkey, and as he spoke a smart chambermaid pranced along, flirting back at another waiter, and ran plump against the boy, tray and all. Down went the dishes with a clatter which brought a bevy of waiters and maids on the scene, while the laundress rushed in, all dripping with soapsuds. This so irritated the head waiter that he seized a teacup and threw it at the unlucky tray man. Then followed a fusillade of broken crockery and promiscuous dodging of giggling maids and explosive men-servants.

The fat cook interposed a threatening, hissing tea-kettle to stop the war, and the perplexed housekeeper appeared among the belligerents as the overwhelmed proprietor beat a hasty retreat. Stealing unperceived along the corridors, an idea struck him. This state of things was simply dreadful; something must be done. He quickly decided. He despatched his little son to the rooms and all about the premises to request the guests to a.s.semble to an affair of state in the imposing chamber known as the main parlor. His wife was an invalid, and the poor man was beside himself in his perplexity.

With wondering, smiling faces they came--a pleasing array of city boarders--ease and comfort written upon every face.

His audience a.s.sembled, the distressed gentleman proceeded to pour forth his grievances. He asked what he should do in such a dilemma. His help had been engaged from the swarms of colored persons who infest the stations and public resorts along the coast. They had given trouble ever since the hotel was opened. They complained and annoyed him first about one thing, then about another, till he was well on to the verge of lunacy.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," he pathetically continued, "if I try to soothe and satisfy, and raise wages and make promises, what guarantee have I that the same thing will not occur to-morrow, and next day, and next week? I engaged them fairly and squarely, and have held strictly to my contract. They are so spoiled and unmanageable that there is no satisfaction in their service. Even now, while I am talking they are no doubt still in an uproar. Why, it is a wholesale mutiny. Something must be done at once. I have come to you for advice. If, as I say, they could be persuaded to remain, I cannot promise you any comfort. If I discharge the whole crew, it will be a day, perhaps two days, before I can supply their places; for I shall have to go to New York for white help. Can you solve the problem?"

For a moment there was silence. Then Miss May Delano, a handsome, wealthy city girl, said, with a challenging glance all around: "I'll wait upon the table for my part, if somebody will get me something to serve!"

This was received with an outburst, and instantly all was chatter and confusion as they caught up the spirit of the thing.

"I'll fill the orders as fast as you can take them," boasted a Wall St.

exquisite, who would have unbent his dignity to any degree to please the bewitching heiress.

"I'll help anywhere--wherever I'm needed," exclaimed another city belle.

"And I!" came in chorus. "We'll be chambermaids," said a party who had just donned bathing suits of blue flannel.

"All right! Get to work!" commanded the crowd. "You have on just the dress for the business."

"Well, Mrs. Ingalls," smilingly encouraged a plump matron, "I suppose we might do as good cooking here as we have done at home in times of emergency. Shall we try?"

"I'm agreeable," laughed the lady. "That is, if we can manage the range."

"Oh, leave that to me," said her husband. "I guess I've handled ranges before." Which caused more merriment, since that gentleman's business was in the hardware line.

Fresh came another bevy of rosy faces, whose owners declared that they had been to a cooking school and knew all about it.

"Nothing like practical demonstration," bantered the young men.

"Hurrah!" cried one Hamilton, the pet of the house. "Give me the girl who can don a white ap.r.o.n, roll up her sleeves, and plunge her pretty arms into the flour barrel! That's what I'm looking for!" and he cleverly balanced a chair on his chin, amid a clamor of repartee and good-natured defiance.

"Go in, the whole ship's crew!" fervently urged a family man. "It will be the best fun of the season."

"All right!" promptly agreed the ladies. "We are ready. Now, hurry up and get on your porter's ap.r.o.n in time for the next wagon of trunks.

Pray, call us when you are about to shoulder one!" which turned the laugh on the muscular member of the group.

"I think I'd rather be parlor maid," sweetly chimed in a little blonde beauty, with fluffy bangs.

"Suits you to a T," was the gallant response from the younger men.

"And I'll have to stand guard to keep you from flirting," put in an adorer.