Dorothy's Triumph

“A bad night, sir, but the storm’s going down,” he remarked, pleasantly.

“The engines will soon be fixed, Donnelly, and if it’s let up sufficiently we may try to make the city at once. Otherwise we will wait till daylight.”

“Yes, sir; all right, sir,” and the man bowed as Mr. Ronald and Dr. Sterling passed on.

In the meantime, Dorothy and Molly lay in their bunks, talking on various subjects, but mostly of the coming concert. Dorothy, of course, was worried, and was trying to borrow trouble by declaring the storm would keep up all the following day, and that she might be forced to miss the concert altogether – an idea which Molly “pooh-poohed” in vigorous terms.

“I’m surprised at you, Dorothy Calvert,” she said. “You’re not a quitter. Nothing in the world will keep you from being at the theater to-morrow night, and you will play as you have never played before. Difficulties will but serve to spur you on to greater deeds.”

“You’re right, chum,” Dorothy replied. “That is a well-deserved rebuke and I thank you for it. Which reminds me that my fears were groundless, for the wind is going down and it does not seem to be raining as hard as it was.”

“Of course not, you goosey! These storms rarely last more than a few hours. The sun will be shining in the morning, and all you’ll see to remind you of to-night will be the rather worn looks of your companions. But what is one night’s loss of sleep, anyway? I just know when you were at school you lost many a good night’s sleep through some prank. Now, didn’t you?”

“That would be telling tales out of school,” smiled Dorothy.

“An evasion means an assent,” remarked her chum. “And the next evening you were feeling as well as ever – just as a nice, warm bath and a rub-down will make you forget your troubles of to-night.”

And Molly was a true prophet. The storm went down rapidly after midnight, until there was only a slight mist falling, and the wind came in fitful little gusts, which lacked the force to do damage even of a slight nature.

After one o’clock, with the cheering intelligence that the engines would soon be in working order, called to them through the stateroom door by Dr. Sterling, the girls fell asleep, to be awakened some hours later by the motion of the boat.

“Oh, look, Molly!” Dorothy cried, shaking her chum out of a sound sleep. “The yacht is under way.”

“Didn’t I tell you so?” was the rather discomforting reply, as Molly sat up, rubbing her eyes. “First thing we know we’ll be back at the hotel.”

“We’ll have to reach the dock first, though.”

“Thanks for the information,” said Molly, as she began to arrange her hair.

The sun was streaming in through the port-holes and the water without was as smooth as glass. The yacht was headed toward the city, and moving along at a steady pace, though not at full speed.

The girls smoothed out their crumpled dresses, gave several other touches to their attire, and after a vigorous use of powder rags, taken from their hand-satchels, they aroused Aunt Betty and together went into the cabin, thence to the deck.

“Good morning!” greeted Judge Breckenridge, who, seated near the rail amidships, was smoking an early morning cigar in the keenest enjoyment.

“It is good morning, sure enough!” cried Dorothy, drawing her lungs full of the pure, sweet air. “And I’m so glad. I hope we reach the city soon, for Herr Deichenberg and Mr. Ludlow will be worried to death over my absence.”

“In half an hour we’ll be at the wharf,” said Mr. Ronald, who approached at this moment. “I trust you rested well?”

This remark was directed principally toward Aunt Betty, who replied:

“I didn’t hear a sound all night long. The last noise I heard was the chatter of the two young magpies who occupied the berths across from me, but no misfortune, no matter how dire or dreadful, could bridle their tongues, so that was to be expected.”

“That sounds very much like a libel to me,” said Dorothy, laughing.

“Well, you’re my niece, and I can libel you if I wish,” was the spirited response.

“But Molly isn’t your niece, auntie.”

“Never mind; she insists on keeping company with you. Under those circumstances she must expect to take home to herself most of the things I say about you.”

“I’m not worried,” said Molly. “I suppose we are all you say we are, and more, Mrs. Calvert.”

“That’s a charitable view to take of it,” said Dr. Sterling.

The engines were working so well that before they realized it the Nautilus was lying snugly moored to her wharf in the North River.

Mr. Ronald’s guests bade him good-by and left the boat, after making him promise to be at Dorothy’s concert in the evening.

At the hotel, early as was the hour, Dorothy found Herr Deichenberg and Mr. Ludlow in conference over her continued absence.

“My goodness! My goodness!” cried the music master. “Would you drive us crazy, Miss Dorothy, that you stay avay all night and make us believe you are lost in the storm?”

“I did not make you believe anything, Herr Deichenberg. You took that upon yourself. And perhaps I was lost in the storm, sir,” replied the girl, then extended her hand to Mr. Ludlow.

“I forgive you, Miss Calvert, and trust you have not so impaired your faculties that your work will fall below its usual standard to-night,” said the manager.

“I have not, I assure you. We were very comfortable in the berths, and put in some good time sleeping between midnight and morning. Molly will tell you that we have no reason for feeling badly.”

“Indeed, no, and Dorothy will be in perfect trim, Mr. Ludlow.”

“Your assurance makes my mind perfectly easy,” was his reply.

“But vhy didn’t you let us know?” Herr Deichenberg asked excitedly. “Vhy? Vhy?”

“Because the yacht was not equipped with a wireless apparatus, I suppose,” Jim Barlow put in, rather testily. “She has done the best she knew how, sir, and that’s all anyone can do.”

“Truly spoken, my boy,” replied the Herr, laying a kindly hand on his shoulder. “You must not mind me; I am a little nervous – dat iss all.”

“The nervousness will pass away now the truant has returned,” Aunt Betty assured him.

Frau Deichenberg, who approached at that moment, nodded, smiling:

“Ah, madame, dat iss true. You must not mind him. He iss like dat vhenever anyt’ing goes wrong. But he means not’ing – not’ing!” She extended her hand. “I am glad to see you safely back.”

Assuring Mr. Ludlow that she would be on hand in the evening without fail, and promising to see him during the afternoon if he called, Dorothy went up to her room, where a hot bath and a nap of several hours’ duration put her in excellent physical trim for the ordeal that night – for an ordeal she knew it was to be – an ordeal that would be the making or the breaking of her career.

CHAPTER XV

DOROTHY’S TRIUMPH

At last the hour was approaching when Dorothy would make her appearance before a metropolitan audience. As evening drew near she felt a nervous sensation, mingled with a faint suspicion of nausea, and wondered at it. Upon the occasion of her appearance in Baltimore not even a tremor of excitement had possessed her; yet, the very thought of appearing in the glare of the footlights in this great New York theater gave her an almost uncontrollable desire to fly away – anywhere – away from the people of this city whose opinions seemed to mean so much to the followers of music and the drama.

Arriving at the theater early, just as she had on the occasion of her appearance in her home city, Dorothy again peeped through a small hole in the curtain, to find the great gold-and-green auditorium a perfect blaze of light.

To her right, in the stage box, sat Aunt Betty, Molly, the Judge, Frau Deichenberg, Mr. Ronald and Jim Barlow chatting gayly, and awaiting the time when the curtain should rise for Dorothy’s opening number.

The murmur of many voices reached the girl, as she looked. It was an audience of taste and culture. Mr. Ludlow had seen to that. His affairs were looked upon by music lovers as distinctly out of the ordinary, hence the better class of people attended them – even sought eagerly for seats.