The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, March 13, 1904, Page 3

nmering instahtly ceased, and a ar white overa me and stared e stage. The impresario, charily g =hort fat—descended the moiselle,” he said, speak- if you are nearer the little Her heart ' . felt K at her huge void s . at the man paper book &h owed strong oo P . h phrases, when the voice of M 8t the bottom of the step Ber me down, quick! They nyvda fir . at e just s Gt T g e et <, stun- I only wished the place had but I thought I'd le you were standing b gin 1 t seasick. It was momen And you ke X Mr. Shackleton don’t say much, but I know he’s tickled h walked the aisle as she vhere Kkleton and the two mer ¢ standing in earnest conver- sat As they approached Lepine ward her and gave a slight We were S g. Mademoiselle,” he sa hat you k e unquestionably a ce. The wer register is remarka- fin Of cour it very . un- in the rough. But E finds that a strong your favor.” T Tojetti,” said Shackleton, 1¢ to think that two years of study be ample to fit you for the oper- atic stage Mariposa looked from one to the other with beaming eyes, hardly able to be- eve it all You really did like it, then?” she sajd to Lepine with her most ingenuous air He shrugged his shoulders, with a queer French expression of quizzical emusement. “It was a truly interesting perform- THE S AN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL ance, and after a period of study with a good master it should be a truly de- lightful one.” The Italian, to whom these sentences were only half intelligible, now broke in with a quick series of somorous phrases, directed to Lepine, but now and then turned upon Shackleton. Mariposa’'s eyes went from one to the other in an effort to understand. Th; impresario, listening with frowning in- tentness, responded with a nod and a word of brusk acquiescence. Turning to Shackleton, he sald: Tojetti also thinks that the appear- ance ¢f Mademoiselle is much in her fave She has an admirable stage presence”’—he looked at Mariposa as if she re a piece of furniture he was ppraising Her height alone is of in- estimable value. She would have at least five feet eight or nine inches.” this moment the lady in the box, 3 had risen to her feet, and was leaning against the railing, called sud- ine, vraiment une belle voix, et une belle fille! Vous avez fait une wheeled round to his star, who r shad light stood, a pale-col- red, burly figure, buttoning her ulster er her redundant chest. A moment,” he said, apologetically the others, and, running to the box, his head back, talking to while the prima donna leaned over 1d a rapid interchange of French sen- wy her tences passed between them. Signor Tojetti turned to Mariposa, and, with solemn effort, produced an English phrase: et ees time to went.” Then he waved his hand toward the stage. The sound of feet echoed therefrom, and as Mariposa looked, an irruption of vague, spectral shapes rose from some unseen cavernous entrance and peopled the or- chests It's the rehearsal,” she said. “We must be going." They moved forward toward the en- trance, the auditorium behind them be- ginning to resound with the noise of th ncoming performers. A scraping of strings came from the darkened or- tra, and mingled with the tenta- ve chords struck from the piano. At the Lepine joined them, falling in- to step beside Shackleton and convers- ing with him in low tones. Signor To- jetti escorted them to the brass rail and withdrew with low bows. The made out that the rehearsal de- d his presence. again in the gray light of the ey stood for a moment at curb waiting for the carriage. ffered his farewells to Mari- wishes to see her again. he said, giving his little 160 there ma Once afternoon the —*“that is the place in T should like to see Made- r 1 We'll talk about that again,” said Shackleton: “I'm going to see Mr: Le- belor before he goes and have another talk about ycu. You see, you're be- oming a véery important young lady.” The carriage rolled up and Mariposa o her was assis in, several street boys watching with wide-eyed interest as evidently a personage of distinction. Her at the window smiled a ra- diant farewell at the group on the side: walk; then she sank back breathless What an afternoon! Would the carrlage get her home, that she might poy out to her mother! What a thrill- wonderful, unheard-of afternoon! CHAPTER \1 VISION AND THE DREAM. multitude iage turned the corner into Shackleton and Mrs. dding their adieux to Lepine, d toward The Trumpet office. The as not ten minutes’ walk both the proprietor and the porter had work there that m r differe elated. ded by the nt w s each was ex- The man, with his face, the upper half brint of his soft feit hat, y evidence in appearance or xultation that pos- ut the woman, with her d less self-contained na- her excited gratification ned chee and the spark- mation of her tired eyes. Her f joyous triumph was witnessed walk, in the way she over the pavements, youthful and buoyant into the tones of her she said, “that was an experi- h having! I never heard her sing so before. She just outdid her- seit.’ “She certainly seemed to me to sing I was doubtful at the owing any more lo about Sanskrit, beggnning, about singing as to whether 3 y had as fine a voice as we c t. But there don’t seem to me 0 be any doubt about it now."” .epine is quite certain, is he queried Mrs. Willers, who had tried to isten to the conversation between her chief and the impresario on the way out, but had been foiled by Maripusa excited c tter “He says that she has an unusually fine voice, which, with proper training, would, as far as they can say now, be perfectly suitable for grand opera. It's what they call a dramatic mezzo-so- prano, with something particularly good about the lower notes. Lepine is to see jne again before he goes.” Did he suggest what she ought to Yes; he spoke of Paris as the best place to send her. He knows some fa- mous teacher there that he says is the proper person for her to study with. He seemed to think that two years of study would be sufficient for her. She'd te ready to make her appearance in grand cpera after that time.” “Good heavens!” breathed Mrs. Will- in a transport of pious triumph, t think of it! And now up in that cottage on Pine street getting 50 cents a lesson, and with only four pupil “In two years,” said Shackleton, who aking more to himself than to “she’ll be 27 years old—just in her €Le’ll be 26, corrected Mre Willers: s only 24 now.” > raised his brows with a liitle air of amused apology. “Twenty-four, is it?” he said s all the better. Twenty - better than twenty-seven. “It'll be like the ‘Innocents Abroad’ to see her and her mother in Paris,” said Mrs. Willers. “They're just two of the most unsophisticated females that ever strayed out of the golden age.” The man \oucbufed no answer to this remark for a moment; then he said: “The mother’s health is very delicate? was sf *Well, th x is one y She’s quite an invalid, you say?" “Quite. But she’s one of the sweetest, most uncomplaining women you ever laid eyes on. You'd understand the daughter better if you knew the moth- er. She's so gentle and girlish. And then they’ve lived round in such a sort of quiet, secluded way. It's funny to me because they had’ plenty of money when Mr Mcreau was alive. But they never seemed to go into society, or know many peonle; they just seemed enough for each other, especially when the father was with them. They sim- ply adored him, and he must have been a fine man. They- “Is Mrs. Moreau’s state of health too bad to allow her to travel?” said Shackleton, interrupting suddenly and rudely, Mrs. Willers colored slightly. She knew her chief well enough to realize that his tone indicated anmoyance. Why did he sp dislike to hear anything about the late Dan Moreau? CTHEY T S “As to that I don’t know,” she sald. “She’s so much of an invalid that she rarely goes out. But with good care she might be able to take a journey and benefit by it. A sea trip sometimes cures people.” ““Miss Moreau couldn’t, and I have no doubt, wouldn’t leave her. It'll there- fore be necesary for the mother to go to Paris with the girl, and if she is so complete and helpless an invalid she'll certainly be of no assistance to her daughter—only a care.” “She’d undoubtedly be a care. But a person couldn’t separate those two. They're wrapped up in each other. It's a pity you don’t know Mrs. Moreau, Mr. Shackleton.” For the second time that afternoon Mrs. Willers was conscious that words she had intended to be gently ingra- tiating had given mysterious offense to her employer. Now he sald, with more than an edge of sharpness to his words: “I've no doubt it's a pity, Mrs. Will- ers. But there are so many things and people it’s a pity I don’t know, that if I came to think it over I'd probably fall into a state of melancholia. Also, let me assure you, that I haven’t the least intenticn of trying to separate Mrs. Moreau and her daughter. What I'm just now bothered about is the fact that this lady is hardly of sufficient worldly experience, and certainly has not suffi- cient strength to take care of the girl in a strange country.” “Well, no,”” said Mrs. Willers with slow reluctance, “it would be the other way round, the girl would be taking care of her.” “That’s exactly what I thought. The only way out of it will be to send some /, ' ” /i r//fl 70 172 5/‘7/ 4 C UM// 4 //[/ 1LY // /// 2, ZIYATER one with them. A woman who could take care of them both, chaperone the daughter and look after the mother.” There was a silence. Mrs. Willers be- gan to understand why Mr. Shackleton had walked down to The Trumpet office with her. The walk was over, for they were at the office door, and the conver- sation had reached the point he had evidently intended to bring it before they parted. As they turned into the arched door- way and began the ascent of the stairs, Mrs. Willers replied: “I think that would be a very good idea, Mr. Shackleton. That is, if you can find the right woman."” “Oh, I've got her now,” he answered, giving her a quick, side-long glance. “I think it would be a good arrange- ment for all parties. The Trumpet wants a Paris correspondent. The door leading into the press rooms opened off the landing they had reached, and he turned into this with a s word of farewell, and a hand lifted to his hat brim. Mrs. Willers continued the ascent alone. As she mounted up- ward she said to herself: “The best thing fcr me to do is to get -a French phrase book on the way home this evening, and begin studying: ‘Have you the green pantaloons of the mill- er's mother? " The elation of his mood was still with ShacKleton when, two hours later, he alighted from the carriage at the steps of his ccuntry house. He went ups to his own rooms with a buoyant tread. In his library, with the windows thrown open to the soft, scented air, he sat smoking and thinking. The October dusk was cloging in, when he heard the wheels of a carriage on the drive and the sound of veices. His women-folk with the second of the Thurston girls— the one guest the house now contained —were returning from the afternoon round of visits that was the main di- version of their life during the summer months, and sweot the country houses from Redwood City to Menlo Park. It was a small dinner table that even- ing, Winslow had stayed in town over night, and Shackleton sat at the head of ‘a shrunken board, with Bessie oppo- site him, his daughter to the left, and Pussy Thurston on his right. Pussy was Maud's best friend and was one of the beauties of San Francisco. To- night she looked especially pretty in a pale green crape dress, with green leaves in her fair hair. Her skin was of a shell-like purity of pink and white, her face was small, with regular fea- tures and a sweet, childish smile. She and her sister were the only chil- dren of the famous Judge Beauregard Thurston, in his day one of those bril- liant lawyers who brought glory to the California bar. He had made a fortune, lived on it recklessly and magnificently and died leaving his daughters almost penniless. He had been In the heyday of his splendor when Jake Shackleton, just struggling into the public eye, had come to San Francisco, and the proud Southerner had not scrupled to treat the raw mining man with careless scorn. Shackleton evened the score be- fore Thurston’'s death, and he still scothe® his wounded pride with the thought that the two daughters of the man who had once despised him were largely dependent on his wife's charity. Bessie took them to balls and parties, dressed them, almost fed them. The very green crepe gown in which Pussy looked so pretty to-night had been in- cluded in Maud's bill at a fashionable dressmaker’s. - Personally he liked Pussy, whose beauty #nd winning manners lent a luster tc his house. Once oa twice to- night she causht him looKing at her with a cold, debaling glance in which there was little of the admiration she was accustomed to receiving since the days of her first long dress. HEé was, in truth, regarding her criti- cally for the first time, for the Bonanza King was a man on whom the beauty of women cast no spell. He was com- paring her with ancther and a more regally handsome girl. Pussy Thurston would look insinid and insignificant be- fore the stately splendor of his own daughter. He smiled as he realized Mariposa's superiority. The young girl saw the smile, and said with the privileged co- quetry of a maid who all her life has known herself favored above her fel- lews: “Why are you smiling all to yourself, Mr. Shackleton? Can’t we know if it is something pleasant?”’ “I was looking at something pretty,” he answered, his eyes full of amuse- ment as they rested on her charming face. “That geneftally makes people smile.” * the She was so used to such remarks that her rose-leaf color did not vary the fraction of a shade. Maud, to whom no one ever paid compliments, looked at her with wistful admiration. “Is that all?” she said with an air of disappointment. “I hoped it was some- thing that would make us all smile.” “Well, T have an idea that may make you all smile he turned t how would you like to go to next spring, Bes : Mrs. Shackletor not greatly elated. On t to Europe, two years be band ha@® been so bored by 1ot foreign travel that she hs her mind she would never go again. Now she But you don't want You said last time you ‘Did 1? Yes, I g Well epared to like it this time. We ¢ ke a spin over in the spring to L« don and Par! We'd mak: A stay in Paris, and you women ld buy clothes. You'd ecc wouldn't you?’ he salé, girl. Her color rose now and her s arkled. She had n been even to w York “Weuldn't said d nake me “I thought so,” he answered g¢ moredly—"and Maud, you'd lil course?” Maud did not like the th going at all. In 1 ret predilect: « were ignora 1 HI leaving love aff: at the point it had d 1, with anguisl at her heart 2d heavily in “I don’t k * she said, crun ing her bread, “I don’t think it's such fun in Europe. You just travel round little stuffy trains, and ha ) live hotels without y Maud, WOrst we and an kid- put scme worst comes to the nap the old lady.” He was In an un and the dinne merry. Only Maud suggestion, g than ev thou months off yet, and might happen in After dinner the lad room, and Shack om of hi long windows pace up and into tHere smoked his cigar to The night arm anc with the Now and gravel of back and f lawn broken hy walks. The its black mass of lit wind ular out®ne sky. Presently the sound of a pi out from the music room stopped his pacing stant, and then ps side of the house. The of the was nt of hidden bic then his foot eru ed path, as his walk took I h over the long stretch of flower beds and T reat bulk of illumined by conge d an inky, i the sta music ing elor balcony and paused in the through cne of painting framed b was Pussy 1 d at ano singin listening Chu most admired sociai was t of song. She had small agr voice, i besn well taught; but the Night, frail tones sounded thin in the wide sile of the nigl v the_feebly pretty performance of “accomplished mg lady.” Shackl smile that incr to a close. away, the red vmm of and going in ti ton darkness “Singing!” d to hi they call that sing Wait till they hear my daugh enfolding a sta hitman w From the day when Mrs. *rs had appeared with the news of Shackle- ton’s interest in her daughter, Luey's health had steadily waned. The pro- s of dec: so quiet. albeit s sure and swift, that Marip accy tomed to the uns and downs of her mother’s invalid conditio wa un- aware that the elder woman's sands were almost run. The pale int y the coldness of the hand gri hers, that had greeted her the recital at the to the girl only the tion of her own eager exultation. blind, rot only from ignorance, but from the egctistic preoccupations of her youth, d impossible to think of he; s failing in her loving respon now that the su rising on their horizon. But Lucy knew that she was dying. Her feeble body had received its coup de grace on the day that Mrs. Willers brought the news of Shaekleton's wish to see his child. Since then she had spent long hours in thought. When her mind was clear enough she had pon- dered on the situation, trying to see what was best to do for Mari a’s welfare. The problem that faced her terrified her. The dying woman was having the last struggle with herself. One week after the recital at the opera-house she had grown so much worse that Mariposa had called in the doctor they had had in attendance, off and on, s their arrival. He was grave and there wgs a consultation. When she saw their faces the cold dread that had been slowly growing ir the girl's heart seemed suddenly to ex- pand and chill her whole being. =. Moreau was undoubtedly though there was still hope. looks were sober and pitying as they listeped to the daughter’s reiterated as- severations that her mother had often been wcrse and made a successful rally. An atmosphere of illness settled down like a fog on.the littie cottage. A nurse appeared; the doctors seemed to be in the house many times a day. Mre. Willers, as soon as she heard, came up, no longer overdressed and foolish, but grave and helpful. After a half hour spent at Lucy's bedside, wherein the sick woman had spoken little, and then only about ber daugh- nce ter, Mrs. Willers had gone to the office of The Trumpet, frowning m- pathetic pain. It was Saturday, and ad already for Meu ay and tell his old friend's w knew the gor t and sold rminabla passe I me- vindow the . It was one & s that ush a agains ¥ < t to spray ¢ f s h s ) 1 1 I il t ) The gra 1 s h nd = y J oS s h s rthles ¥ i this s g axed at n esent \ L g Yet tI ¢ 1s pla I s Mariposa could se as thoughts the sick ct nd and 1 s with a curi r and to anted to fine al g time, d was wan- n a chair by and pressed down ng took her hand without speaking. Her the same attitude, her profile toward ng va- cantly at she said “You know my old desk, rosewood one Dan gave me? keys and open it, and in tk you'll see two envelopes, with no writ- ing. One looks di and old. Bring them to me here.” Mariposa rose wondering, and looking her mother. The elder at the look, and sald weakly ishly: I am long. The keys are in anxiously woman saw and almost pee “Go; a enough to talk the workbox.” The girl cbeyed as quickiy as possi- ble. The desk was a small one resting on the center table. It had been a present of her father’s to her mother, and s remembered it from her earii- est childhood In a prominent pesition in her mother's room. She opened It, and in a few moments, under old let- ters, memorand :d souvenirs, found the two envelopes. Carrying them to the bed she gave them to her mother. not be strong Lucy took them with an unsteady hand, and for a moment lay staring at her dgughter and not moving. Then she said: “Put the pillows under my head. It's easier to breathe when I'm higher,” and as Mariposa arranged them, she added, in a lower voice: “And tell Mrs. Brown to go; I want to be alone with you.” Mariposa looked out beyond the screen, and seeing the nurse still read«