Helen Ford

“But I may never be able to pay you.”

“That risk is mine. I ask no security. I claim no interest. It is enough that in this way I am able to link my name with modest merit, and aid in bringing forward a discovery which will prove of incalculable benefit to mankind.”

Poor Mr. Ford! He was tempted beyond his power of resistance. This timely aid would enable him to carry out plans which he thought likely to expedite his final triumph. Yes, he would accept what was so generally proffered. A little while and he would be able to repay the loan with interest. So at least he was sanguine enough to think.

“I cannot thank you sufficiently,” he said, warmly, “for this mark of generous and disinterested friendship towards a comparative stranger. The delicacy with which you tender this loan removes all the objections I might otherwise have to receiving it. Again I thank you.”

He signed the note and handed it to Mr. Sharp, who took from his pocket-book the sum mentioned and laid it on the table. The lawyer put the note into his pocket, saying, as he did so, “This strip of paper is to me of inestimable value in so far as it connects me with one whose name, I am sure, will be handed down to fame as one of the greatest of modern inventors. But, sir, my mission is accomplished, I will not further trespass upon your valuable time. I trust you will not scruple to use freely the money I have advanced for the furtherance of your great purpose. I shall claim the privilege of sometimes looking in upon you and witnessing your progress.”

“You will always be most welcome,” said Mr. Ford, cordially.

“Rather a clever operation that!” thought Mr. Sharp, as he threaded his way down stairs. “It was a capital idea, making out the note for three hundred dollars and only paying him two. I knew he would never detect it. After all, the extra hundred will do more good in my hands than in Ford’s, who would only waste it on his crazy invention. My client will never be the wiser. By the way, he must have some deep scheme on foot, or he would never throw away such a sum on a crack-brained enthusiast. I think, old fellow, you’ve earned a good oyster-supper, with a glass or so to make it go down. Talking has made me as dry as a herring.”

And the benevolent Mr. Sharp, who was so anxious to connect his name with an important discovery in science, gravely entered a neighboring saloon and called for something to drink. Human nature is not at all times heroic.

CHAPTER XIV.

HELEN MAKES KNOWN HER ENGAGEMENT

It was again morning. Helen sat at the window, which was thrown wide open to admit the pleasant breeze that rustled in and out like a restless sprite, laden, not with rich odors and sweet perfumes from green fields, but resonant with the noises of the crowded city streets.

There was an expression of doubt and perplexity in Helen’s face. She was considering whether it would be possible to make known to her father her engagement at the theatre, without, at the same time, revealing the motive which had led her to seek it. She was assured that her father would feel deeply pained if he knew the real state of the case, and she dreaded that he might object to her keeping her engagement. While she was hesitating, her father suddenly turned from his work and met her glance.

“A penny for your thoughts, Helen,” he said, with unwonted playfulness.

“My thoughts!” and she blushed consciously. “I am afraid, papa, they are not worth so much.”

“How cool and refreshing is the air!” mused Mr. Ford, as he stood for a moment at the window. “Mark how beautifully the clouds are tinged with the faintest flush of red. Well have the old poets spoken of morning as ‘rosy-fingered.’ Would you like to go out for a walk, Helen?”

Helen looked up at the clock. It lacked yet two hours of the time for rehearsal. There would be plenty of time for a walk, which, with her father, was never a long one.

“Perhaps I shall be able to say something about my engagement, on the way,” she thought.

She silently got her bonnet, and, placing her hand in that of her father, descended the stairs into the street. Here all was life and activity. In the early morning of a pleasant day the streets of a great city present a pleasant and cheerful aspect. Everything is full of stir and bustle. Even the jaded dray-horse pricks up his ears, and shows some signs of life. Boys and girls expend their superabundant activity in bounding along the sidewalk, and even the man of business seems lightened of a portion of his cares. There is a subtile electricity in the air, which unconsciously affects the spirits of all, and lights up many faces with vague hopefulness.

Helen yielded herself up to the influences of the morning, and a quiet sense of happiness stole over her. She thought how beautiful in itself is the gift of life, and how glad we ought to be for the bright sunshine, and the clear, refreshing air, and the beautiful earth. The conflicts of life were lost sight of. She forgot, in the exhilaration of her spirits, that the days were sometimes dark, and the clouds leaden. Her father seemed affected in a similar way. A faint flush crept to his wan cheek, and his step became more elastic.

“How the difficulties and embarrassments of our daily lives fade away in this glorious sunshine!” he said, musingly. “Sometimes I have had fears that my discovery would never prove available; but to-day success seems almost within my grasp. It would be a sin to doubt, when all Nature whispers auguries of hope.”

“You must succeed, papa,” said Helen, cheerfully.

“So I feel now. I catch the inspiration of this cooling breeze. It breathes new life into me. It gives me fresh courage to work, for the end draws near.”

Mr. Ford relapsed into silence, and Helen walked quietly by his side, occupied with her own thoughts. All at once she became sensible that she had attracted the attention of a little knot of boys, who were conversing together in a low tone, pointing first to her, and then to a large placard posted conspicuously on the wall beside her.

“That’s she!” she heard pronounced in an audible voice. “I saw her last night.”

Following the direction of their fingers, she started in surprise on reading, in large capitals, her own name. It was the bill of the evening’s entertainment in the theatre at which she was engaged. The surprise was so unexpected, that she uttered a half-exclamation, which, however, was sufficient to draw her father’s attention to the bill.

THE TALENTED YOUNG VOCALIST,

MISS HELEN FORD,

WILL MAKE HER SECOND APPEARANCE THIS EVENING IN A POPULAR SONG

“It is very strange,” said Mr. Ford, stopping short as he read this announcement; “some one having the same name with you, Helen?”

“No, papa,” said she, in a low voice.

“No?” repeated her father, in surprise. “Then you don’t see the name.”

“Will you promise not to be angry with me, papa, if I tell you all.”

“Angry! Am I often angry with you, Helen?”

“No, no! I did not mean that. But perhaps you will think I have done wrong.”

“I am still in the dark, Helen.”

“Then,” said the young girl, hurriedly, and with flushed face, “that is my name. I am the Helen Ford whose name is on the bill.”

“You, Helen!” exclaimed her father, in undisguised amazement.

“Yes, papa. I have been wanting to tell you all this morning; but I hardly knew how.”

“I don’t understand. Have you ever sung there?”

“Last night, for the first time.”

Helen proceeded to give her father a circumstantial account of her interview with the manager, her repulse at first, and her subsequent engagement. She added that she had hesitated to tell him, lest he should object to her accepting it. She next spoke of her first appearance upon the stage,—how at first she was terrified at sight of the crowded audience, but had succeeded in overcoming her timidity, and lost all consciousness of her trying position in the enjoyment of singing.

“You have forgotten one thing, Helen,” said her father, gravely. “You have not told me what first gave you the idea of singing in public.”

“It was Martha,” said Helen, in some embarrassment, foreseeing what was coming. “One day I sang in her room, and she was so well pleased, that she told me I might one day become a public singer.”

“And that was all, Helen?”

“What else should there be, papa?” she answered, evasively.

“Indeed, I do not know. I thought it might be because you supposed we were poor, and wished to earn some money. But you see, Helen, there is no need of that;” and he drew out his pocket-book, and displayed to the child’s astonished gaze the roll of bills which Mr. Sharp had insisted on loaning him the day previous.

“Indeed, papa, I had no idea you were so rich.”

“A kind friend lent me this money yesterday.”

“Who was it, papa?”

“You remember a man who came to see us a fortnight since,—a tall man with a white hat?”