Together Part 16

"You did not expect this! You see my husband had some work to attend to near here, and I thought I would come with him.... No, we left Delia in Pittsburg with his mother,--she wanted to see you, but she would be in the way."

They came soon to her singing, and her face clouded.

"I haven't been able to get an opening. I wanted to sing the Cycle with an orchestra. But I haven't succeeded,--our Pittsburg orchestra won't look at any talent purely domestic. It is all pull over here. I haven't any influence.... You must start with some backing,--sing in private houses for great people! We don't know that kind, you see."

"And concerts?" Vickers inquired.

"The same way,--to get good engagements you must have something to show....

I've sung once or twice,--in little places, church affairs and that kind of thing."

Vickers laughed as Mrs. Conry's expressive lips curled.

"They tell you to take everything to begin with. But singing for church sociables in Frankfort and Alleghany,--that doesn't do much! I want to go to New York,--I know people there, but--"

Vickers understood that Mr. Conry objected.

"It must come sometime," she said vehemently; "only waiting is killing. It takes the life out of you, the power, don't you think?"

"Could you sing here?" Vickers asked,--"now, I mean? I might be able to arrange it."

"Oh, if you could!" Mrs. Conry's face glowed, and her fingers played nervously with her long chain. "If I could give the Cycle with your accompaniment, here in St. Louis where you are so well known--"

Vickers smiled at the picture of his debut in St. Louis drawing-rooms.

"I will ask my sister to help," he said. "I should like her to call."

Mrs. Conry became suddenly animated, as if after a period of depressing darkness she saw a large ray of sunshine. She had thought of possibilities when she had persuaded her husband to take her to St. Louis, but had not expected them to develop at once.

"You see," she continued quickly, "if I can get a hearing here, it means that other people may want me,--I'll become known, a little."

"My mother couldn't have it," Vickers explained, "nor my sister, because of our mourning. But Mrs. Lawton,--that would be better any way." He thought of Nannie Lawton's love of _reclame_, and he knew that though she would never have considered inviting the unheralded Mrs. Conry to sing in her drawing-room, she would gladly have _him_ appear there with any one, playing his own music.

"Yes, we'll put it through! The Songs of the Cities." He repeated the words with sentimental visions of the hours of their composition.

"And then I have some more,--Spanish songs. They take, you know! And folk-songs." Mrs. Conry talked on eagerly of her ambitions until Vickers left, having arranged for Isabelle to call the next day. As he took his way to the Lawtons' to use his influence with the volatile Nan in behalf of Mrs. Conry, his memory of their talk was sad. 'America, that's it,' he explained. 'She wants to do something for herself, to get her independence.' And he resolved to leave no stone unturned, no influence unused, to gratify her ambition.

So Isabelle called on Mrs. Conry in company with Nannie Lawton. Vickers little knew what an ordeal the woman he loved was pa.s.sing through in this simple affair. A woman may present no difficulties to the most fastidiously bred man, and yet be found wanting in a thousand particulars by the women of his social cla.s.s. As the two emerged from the hotel, Isabelle looked dubiously at Mrs. Lawton.

"Queer, isn't she?" that frank lady remarked. "Oh, she's one of those stray people you run across in Europe. Perhaps she can sing all right, though I don't care. The men will be crazy after her,--she's the kind,--red hair and soft skin and all that.... Better look out for that young brother of yours, Isabelle. She is just the one to nab our innocent Vickie."

Isabelle's report of her call had some reserves.

"Of course she is very striking, Vick. But, you see,--she--she isn't exactly our kind!"

"That is Nan," the young man retorted impatiently. "I never heard you say that sort of thing before. What on earth is 'our kind'? She is beautiful and has talent, a lot of it,--all she wants is her chance. And why shouldn't she have it?"

Isabelle smiled at his heat, and replied caressingly:--

"She shall have all that Nan and I can do for her here. But don't be foolish about her. I suspect you could be with a woman--because of your dear old heart.... If she can't sing a note, she'll make a hit with her looks, Nan says!"

So the musicale was arranged. There were mostly women in Mrs. Lawton's smart little music room when Mrs. Conry rose to sing a series of introductory songs. She was very striking, as Isabelle and Mrs. Lawton had foreseen that she would be,--rather bizarrely dressed in a white and gold costume that she had designed herself, with a girdle of old stones strung loosely about her waist. She was nervous and sang uncertainly at first so that Vickers had to favor her in his accompaniment. He could see the trembling of her white arm beside him. The Cycle of the Cities came near the end of the programme, and when Vickers took his seat to play the accompaniments, he was aware that a number of men had arrived and were standing in the hall, peering through the doors at the performance. He knew well enough what the men were thinking of him, sitting there playing his own songs,--that it was a queer, monkey performance for the son of Colonel Price! The fine arts are duly recognized in American cities; but the commercial cla.s.s, as always has been its wont, places them in a category between millinery and theology.

She had chosen _Paris_ to open with, and gave the song with a.s.surance, eliciting especially from the men in the hall the first real applause. Then followed _Vienna, Munich_. She was singing well, gaining confidence. When it came to _Venice_,--Vickers remembered as he followed her swimming voice the twilight over the Campagna, the approaching ma.s.s of Rome,--even the women woke to something like enthusiasm. As she uttered the first note of _Rome_, she glanced down at Vickers, with a little smile, which said:--

"Do you remember? This is _ours_,--I am singing this for you!"

Her face was flushed and happy. She sang the difficult music as she had sung that last night in Rome, and Vickers, listening to the full voice so close to him, heard again the high sad note of the street singer, in the golden spring day, uttering this ancient melody of tears,--only this time it was woven with laughter and joy. When she finished, he sought her eyes; but Mrs. Conry was sweeping the gathering with a restless glance, thinking of her encore....

Afterwards the women said agreeable things about Vickers's music, especially the _Paris_ and the _Venice_. About Mrs. Conry they said that her voice was good, "somewhat uncultivated," "too loud for drawing-room music,"--safe criticisms. The men said little about the music, but they cl.u.s.tered around the singer. Mrs. Lawton looked significantly at Isabelle and winked. One old gentleman, something of a beau as well as a successful lawyer, congratulated Vickers on his "tuneful" music. "It must be a pleasant avocation to write songs," he said....

They dined at the Lawtons', and afterwards Vickers took Mrs. Conry to the hotel. She was gay with the success she had had, the impression she had made on the men.

"Something'll come of this, I am sure. Do you think they liked me?"

"You sang well," Vickers replied evasively, "better than well, the _Rome_."

In the lobby of the hotel she turned as though to dismiss him, but Vickers, who was talking of a change to be made in one of the songs, accompanied her to the parlor above, where they had practised the music in preparation for the concert. Mrs. Conry glanced quickly into the room as they entered, as if expecting to find some one there. Vickers was saying:--

"I think we shall have to add another one to the Cycle,--_New York_ or something to stand for--well, what it is over here,--just living!"

The door of the inner room opened and a man appeared, coatless, with a much-flowered waistcoat.

"So you're back," the man remarked in a heavy voice.

"My husband," Mrs. Conry explained, "Mr. Vickers Price!"

Mr. Conry shuffled heavily into the room. He was a large man with a big grizzled head and very red face, finely chased with purple veins. He gave Vickers a stubby hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Price. Heard about you from Delia. Sit down."

Conry himself stood, swaying slightly on his stout legs. After a time he chose a seat with great deliberation and continued to stare at the young man. "Have a cigar?" He took one from his waistcoat pocket and held it towards the young man. "It's a good one,--none of your barroom smokes,--oh, I see you are one of those cigarette fiends, same as Stacia!"

There was a conversational hiatus, and Vickers was thinking of going.

"Well, how was the show?" Conry demanded of his wife. "Did you sing good,--make a hit with the swells? She thinks she wants to sing," he explained with a wink to Vickers, "but I tell her she's after sa.s.siety,--that's what the women want; ain't it so?"

"Mrs. Conry sang very well indeed," Vickers remarked in default of better, and rose to leave.

"Don't go,--what's your hurry? Have something to drink? I got some in there you don't see every day in the week, young man. A racing friend of mine from Kentuck sends it to me. What's yours, Stacy?" ...

When the young man departed, Stacia Conry stared at the door through which he had disappeared, with a dead expression that had something disagreeable in it. Conry, who had had his drink, came back to the parlor and began to talk.

"I went to a show myself to-night, seeing you were amusing yourself....

There was a girl there who danced and sang,--you'd oughter seen her....

Well, what are you sittin' staring at? Ain't you coming to bed?"

His wife rose from her seat, exclaiming harshly, "Let me alone!" And Conry, with a half-sober scrutiny of the woman, who had flung herself face down on the lounge, mumbled:--

"Singing don't seem to agree with you. Well, I kept my word; gave you the money to educate yourself." ...