Dorothy's Tour Part 12

"Take your violin, dear, and hurry. The 'phone is ringing now and I guess that is them. Yes, it is," said Aunt Betty, answering the call.

"Good-bye, all, for just a little while. You all be early," called Dorothy, as she left the room.

After a remarkably fine dinner at the Hotel Astor, which the girls enjoyed immensely, they all drove to the Hippodrome. Mr. Ludlow led the girls inside and showed them where they were to sit while they waited for their turn to play or sing. There were many, many people in a large room and Mr. Ludlow told them they were the artists and their friends, but that presently all that were to take part would meet in the room where the girls were. He left them there for a few minutes and went away to find out if they had been given their places on the list. He found their numbers were five and six, Ruth being five. He came back, told the girls this and then left them to themselves till their turns came. They sat still, not saying much but enjoying all the people about them,--some of them seemed to them so queer.

Finally it was Ruth's turn to sing. Slowly she got up, walked to the entrance and on the stage. She rendered her simple song, "Still vie die Nochte" very well, and amid a volley of applause, left the stage.

She could not give an encore so she simply walked to the front again and bowed.

Dorothy, listening, had heard all and was preparing for her task, tuning her violin. Just then Ruth, returning, whispered in her ear, "Good luck," as she pa.s.sed her.

Dorothy turned and smiled at her new friend, and then proceeded forward to the stage, violin in hand. One brief glimpse she caught of the crowded house, and she thought she had never seen so many, many people before.

The Hippodrome is very large, the stage being one of the largest in the world, and the seating capacity being many thousands. So you see there were a great number of people there. The house was over-crowded, as naturally every one was interested in the home for blind babies, and the talent of the evening had called forth a very large attendance.

Slowly Dorothy raised her violin and started the initial strain of the melody. The beautiful "Southern Airs" appealed to many, as there were a large number of southerners present that night. Played by the beautiful girl, it made the old go back in memory to days that were the happiest in their lives. They longed for the South; the large plantations, the beautiful gardens, the s.p.a.cious, old, rambling houses, the darkies playing on their violins in the moonlight, the cabins with the little pickaninies disporting in front--all of these and more dreams floated vividly before them, inspired by the wonderful music.

Then softly, very softly the music fell from the violin, the sweet strains of "Dixie," when suddenly a piercing shriek, another, still another, rent the air. People turned pale. Some started to rise from their seats. A woman or two fainted.

Then another and more awful shriek, which sounded as if some one was being murdered. The people in their seats hesitated! Was it fire? Was someone being robbed, or murdered, or what? In a single second a great restlessness took possession of them all, tending to make of the crowd an angry mob, and panic a possible result.

Dorothy from her place on the stage for a moment was rooted immovable to the spot. She looked in the direction from which the screams came and saw a man throw up his hands and shriek again. It was the man who played the trombone in the orchestra. He threw his instrument in the air and turned as white as chalk, then stiffened out and began to froth at the mouth.

In a moment she knew that the man had convulsions. She had somewhere seen someone in a similar state. The orchestra had suddenly stopped playing. Out in the audience she saw a sight that terrified her more than she would admit to herself. One thought raced through her brain.

She, she alone might--nay must--prevent a panic; people were becoming more excited every moment.

Instinct of some sort made her grasp her violin and raise it. Then she knew what to do. Without accompaniment, in clear, sweet tones she played "America." Slowly the people rose, rose to pay their respects to their national hymn, patriotism immediately conquering all fear.

While she played the poor trombone player was carried out to receive medical attention. All through the three verses of the hymn Dorothy held the audience, and then as she finished and the curtain fell, the house broke out in thunderous applause, for now they realized what this girl had done, what possibilities she had saved them from. So insistent was the applause that Dorothy had to stop in front of the curtain again and again.

CHAPTER IX.

A DREAD CALL IN THE NIGHT.

The next day Dorothy was ill as the result of the strain of the previous evening, and when Mr. Ludlow and Ruth called they found her resting on the couch in the living room. Ruth was eager to talk of the happenings of the night before, but Mr. Ludlow restrained her, saying:

"Dorothy, I am very proud of you, and I want to thank you for what you did last night. The morning papers are full of the news of the events of last night, and now every place you go you will be doubly welcomed and given hearty receptions. It was a very good thing for us as it has given you advance press notices, which are superior and more convincing than anything I could put in for you. You will probably get all kinds of letters from people wanting you to play at private concerts, but keep them, my dear, as sometimes they come in very handy, and you never can tell when you can use them.

"But for the present you must rest, that is, to-day and to-morrow.

Tuesday we start on the noon train for Was.h.i.+ngton, so be prepared and on time. Ruth has much packing to do likewise, so we will go now and leave you to yourself."

"Oh, can't I stay and talk?" interrupted Ruth eagerly. "There are so many things I want to talk to Dorothy about."

"No. I guess you had better go home and pack up. You know I want you to go to church to-night. There is to be a musical service at St.

Bartholomew's that I want you to hear," added Mr. Ludlow.

"Can't we all go?" questioned Ruth.

"I think Dorothy is better off home, here," rejoined Aunt Betty. "She had better stay here and rest, just for to-day. Then you see, she has to pack and shop a little to-morrow."

"I would like to go," Alfy chimed in. "I just love church music, it is so grand, so very impressive and kind of awe inspiring."

"All right," answered Mr. Ludlow, "suppose you do. You can bring Jim with you, if he would care to come."

"I know I should enjoy the services very much," responded Jim, not very enthusiastically, but so long as he couldn't be with Dorothy he could sit there and think of her, and Alfy was so anxious to go it would be unkind to refuse.

"Well, you two meet us there," said Mr. Ludlow, and turning to Ruth, "Come along, my dear."

"Good-bye, all," said Ruth, and they departed.

Dorothy and Aunt Betty stayed home as arranged, while Jim and Alfy attended church, returning to the hotel just as Aunt Betty and Dorothy were about to retire.

"Oh, Dorothy," exclaimed Alfy, eagerly, "you ought to have gone, you missed such a lot. The music was so beautiful. I just know that an organ has locked up in those big pipes the finest music in the world.

It's so solemn and impressive it most made me cry."

"But you forget the wonderful singing," interrupted Jim. "They had a full choir, and the voices of so many young boys sounded like the voices of angels. And as they played the recessional and marched out, the singing grew softer and softer, and sounded as if it were coming from Heaven indeed."

Dorothy did not say anything at this, but looked at Jim earnestly.

"I am glad you enjoyed the services. Yes, the Episcopal services, I do think, are the most impressive of all denominations," said Aunt Betty.

"Did you see Ruth and Mr. Ludlow?" asked Dorothy, turning to Alfy. She was afraid to look at Jim for fear of seeing something in his eyes she felt she had no right at that time to see.

"Yes, we met them in time, and they both wished to be remembered to you and Aunt Betty, and hoped you were feeling rested now," answered Alfy.

"Come, let's go to bed now, dears," said Aunt Betty. "We all have to do a lot to-morrow and must get up real early." With that they all retired to rest till the morrow. That at least was their expectation, but soon there was to materialize a different aspect to affairs. New York, even at night, is a noisy place, so it is little wonder that when the cries of "Fire," "Fire," rent the air, few heard and the few who did hear paid not much attention.

But when someone knocked on Mrs. Calvert's door with a terrific thud, and yelled, "Fire! Fire! All out! Use stairs to the left!" all three, Aunt Betty, Dorothy and Alfy, were out of their beds with unhesitating promptness, and remarkably scared at that.

"Fire! Fire!" rang through the air, and they could hear the bell-boys thump, thump, thump on each door.

"Put on your slippers and kimona and come at once!" commanded Aunt Betty, suiting actions to her words. "Come, Alfy, Dorothy, this way out!"

Very quickly, indeed, the girls, too bewildered to do much else but obey orders, followed close by, Alfy picking up her hat and a few other articles as she ran through her room.

"This way, ladies," called the bell-boy. "This way. No danger, only it's best to get out. Use this stair."

Aunt Betty and the girls quickly gained the stairs, and ran down as fast as they could, one after the other. On reaching the main floor they heard the call of another attendant. "All step outside and across the street." So they followed quietly on and outside till they stood on the opposite side of the street.

There were a.s.sembled a couple of hundred people, mainly guests of the hotel, most of them more or less asleep and very scantily clothed in garments hastily a.s.sumed. Some of the women and children were sobbing, and most of them s.h.i.+vering. Looking up at the hotel, Dorothy tried to locate just where the fire was. She finally discovered a little flame and smoke curling up from the wing of the hotel, not where their rooms were, but far above, near the top floors. Quickly she ran her eye down and counted the floors, finding that the fire was on the tenth and eleventh floors.

Suddenly it came to her that her priceless violin, her precious Cremona, was back there in their rooms on the seventh floor. Suddenly she slipped away from Aunt Betty and started toward the building.

Swiftly she made her way through the crowd, and very quietly pa.s.sed the firemen and bell-boys who stood about the entrance to the burning building. In a second she was past them, and on her way up the long stairs as she knew that the elevators were not running, and would not take her up if they were. She felt sure that she could get to the room and return with safety without being missed.

In the meantime, Jim, who had not awakened at the first alarm, almost frantic at not being able to discover Aunt Betty and the girls, was wandering in and out of the crowd, scanning the faces of everyone very carefully, trying vainly to find the ones he loved best in all this wide, wide world. Suddenly a hand grasped his arm and a voice said, "Jim, Jim, we have been looking for you. Where have you been?" and Jim turned and saw it was Aunt Betty that spoke.

"What do you think of the fire?" she continued. "Do you think it is going to be real serious?"