Dorothy's Tour

“Isn’t the room pretty! What luxurious chairs, soft sofas, beautiful rugs, and those cream colored curtains!” exclaimed Ruth.

“Whose room is this?” asked Dorothy, who was becoming tired, and, wanting to move on more rapidly, had gone ahead.

“This next room is the President’s room,” answered Aunt Betty. “It is the custom of the President to sit here during the last day of a Congressional session in order to be ready to sign bills requiring immediate attention. The portraits are those of Washington and his first cabinet members.”

From here they ascended to the gallery floor by way of the western grand staircase, at the foot of which stands the statue of John Hancock. In the wall of the landing is Walker’s painting, “The Storming of Chepultepec.” The scene is during the Mexican War, when it was captured by Scott’s army.

The rooms here in the gallery are numerous committee rooms not open to the public, so they all passed on down the corridor to the interesting rooms that contain Morau’s celebrated pictures of the canyons of the Colorado and of the Yellowstone, which were painted by actual study of the scenes. Those familiar with these marvelous regions of the country recognize that the coloring is by no means overly vivid, and that the drawings are most accurate and natural.

In the adjoining hall is the painting of the encounter between the Monitor and the Merrimac. This picture is the only exception to the rule that no reminder of the Civil War should be placed in the Capitol; an exception due to the fact that this was in reality a drawn battle, where the courage of the contestants was conspicuously equal, and where the naval methods of old found their grave. Its historic interest is, therefore, world-wide.

“The bust, there, Dorothy,” said Aunty Betty, “is of John A. Dix, afterward a major general. It was he, who, when he was Secretary of the Treasury early in the uncivil war, sent to one of his special representatives in a Southern State the famous order containing the words, ‘If anyone attempts to haul down the American flag, shoot him on the spot,’ which so thrilled patriotic hearts.”

“From here let us go to the Supreme Court,” said Mr. Ludlow. “That will finish our tour of the Capitol.”

A small elevator took them down to the main floor, where they walked along the corridor, viewing the portraits of Thomas Jefferson and Patrick Henry.

The Supreme Court of the United States now uses the chamber in the old Capitol which was originally designed for the Senate. The background is a row of columns of variegated gray Potomac marble, with white Ionic capitals. In the centre is the chair of the chief justice, behind which are draped crimson curtains surmounted by a hovering eagle. On the dias below is the long “bench” of the most august court in the land.

“One formal custom here will be of interest,” said Mr. Dauntrey. “On court days the justices enter the room in procession precisely at noon. They wear voluminous black silk gowns, and sit in a prescribed order with the chief justice, of course, in the centre.”

“There. I think we have made a very careful tour of the Capitol. I think we have missed nothing at all of importance,” said Mr. Ludlow. “But I guess by now, you are all tired and anxious to be back to the hotel.”

“What time is it, I wonder?” said Dorothy to herself, and turning to Mr. Ludlow said, “Mr. Ludlow, I feel as if it were time for lunch.”

“Why, it’s one-thirty o’clock,” said Mr. Ludlow. “I am surprised that the time has gone so quickly, so let’s hurry back to the hotel, for we are already late.”

All were hungry and anxious to get back to their luncheon, but no one regretted a single moment spent in this most interesting place.

CHAPTER XIV.

HIGH HONOR

That afternoon Dorothy devoted to practice, giving special attention to the three pieces she was to play at the concert, two of which had been given place on the program. The third was to be held in readiness in case she needed to respond to an encore. Aunt Betty and Alfy listened to her and expressed their approval. They were never limited in their praise of her work, which always seemed to them beyond criticism.

“Good-bye, for a while,” called Dorothy, at the end of a stanza. “I will only be gone a few minutes, I hope. Mr. Ludlow, in my letter of instructions, told me to come to him at four o’clock. I have to play over my selections to him so he can criticize them.”

Dorothy walked slowly down the hall and knocked on the sitting room door. In a moment, to her surprise, Mr. Dauntrey opened it.

“Good afternoon,” said he. “Now, I shall have the pleasure of listening to you play, I hope.”

“Mr. Ludlow said that I was to come here at four o’clock. I think he wants me to play my selections over for him,” answered Dorothy.

“Yes, you are right,” said Mr. Ludlow, from his large easy rocking chair by the open window, which overlooked a court. “Yes. Stand over there and start in at once.”

Dorothy, thus enjoined, took up her violin and began playing. She finished her first piece without any interruptions on the part of Mr. Ludlow. She was about to start the second piece when he called to her to stop.

“Play the introduction to that piece again and a little louder, also a little firmer,” he ordered.

She did as she was told.

“That’s a little better,” he said, when she had finished. “But I should play the introduction still louder, so as to make a marked contrast when the melody proper starts in, by playing that very softly, like someone singing way off in the distance. And one more thing; in the last part, when you have that staccato melody, play that sharper. Now, try the piece all over again.”

Dorothy answered, “Yes,” and then played again, trying to do just as Mr. Ludlow asked her to, and when she finished she stood still, saying nothing, just waiting to hear what Mr. Ludlow would say. If she expected a word of praise she was to be disappointed.

“Very well, try the next one,” was all Mr. Ludlow said.

So the girl once more took up her violin, and filled the room with melody. This time she played her piece, so she thought, very poorly, in part, because of Mr. Dauntrey. She seemed to feel his eyes on her, and it made her nervous.

“Very well,” said Mr. Ludlow, much to her surprise. “That will be all for this afternoon. And, Miss Dorothy, try not to get nervous or excited to-night. I expect you to do your very best.”

“I will try,” smiled back Dorothy. “Good afternoon.”

Just as she reached the door, she saw Ruth, who stepped back into the shadow of the hall.

Ruth questioned, “Is he cross? And is Mr. Dauntrey there?”

“Mr. Ludlow isn’t cross, but he’s very business-like. And Mr. Dauntrey is in there, and I wish he hadn’t been,” answered Dorothy.

“Oh, dear,” exclaimed Ruth, “I just know he will be so cross with me, for if Mr. Dauntrey is in there I just can’t sing. He thinks I am a wonderful singer, and I know that I’m not. Still, I hate to have him think that I can’t sing at all.”

“You will do all right, dear,” comforted Dorothy. “Just think you are alone, and forget everything and everybody.”

“Very well,” answered Ruth, “and good-bye. I must go in and bear it,” saying which she walked up to the door and knocked.

Dorothy walked down the hall toward her own rooms, then she turned, took the elevator downstairs, and bought a postal, one showing a picture of the capitol. This she took to her writing desk, addressed it, and wrote just this, “Arrived safe. Visited the capitol this morning. Will write later. With love, Dorothy.”

She placed a stamp on it and mailed it, then hurried upstairs to her room again.

“I am rather tired,” she said to her aunt and Alfy, who were reading, “I think I shall rest a few minutes before I dress for dinner. We need to have dinner real early to-night, as we are expected to be at the National Theater at 7.30 p. m. Mr. Ludlow is to give us each a program, then, and tell us of any last orders he may have for us.”

“Shall I get your things all out and have everything all ready for you?” inquired Alfy.

“Yes, please.”

“What dress do you want to wear?” asked Alfy.

“I think you had better wear the pink one, dear,” suggested Mrs. Calvert.

“Very well, the pink one, Alfy,” called Dorothy.

“I will have all the things you need ready; shoes – I mean slippers, stockings, handkerchiefs, and gloves,” called back Alfy, as by this time Dorothy had reached her room, and was preparing for her rest.

Both Mrs. Calvert and Alfaretta continued to read for quite some time, and finally when she thought it was time for Alfy to get dressed, Aunt Betty said:

“Alfy, I think you had better start to get dressed, now, and as you are to lay out Dorothy’s things for her, I do not think you will have any too much time.”

“Surely, Aunt Betty, I will begin at once. I was so interested in my book that I forgot my duties,” answered Alfy, and she started into the next room and commenced getting Dorothy’s things ready first.