Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 242, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 October 1915 — THE WALTZ [ARTICLE]

THE WALTZ

By LOUISE OLIVER.

Billy Kennard opened the door of his dreary little bedroom and held a match to the gas Jet before removing his hat, The reflection that sprang into view In the mirror of the bureau showed a face strong and. good-looking, but full of troubledrawn lines. Failure in one’s life work —music it was with Billy—is bad enough, but to fall in love with a girl as far above you as the planets is just about the limit of human endurance. Tonight he had seen her again, more - beautiful than ever. He looked at himself now in the mirror. “You poor penniless fool,” he muttered, “to go crazy over a girl when it’s all you can do to live. Who are you to even think of her?” But in spite of his words, he opened an evening paper to the society column. He watched ffiaily for her name, or rather for her family’s name, for he did not know which of the Etheridge girls she was. v An item caught his eye and he read it eagerly. The Etheridges'were to be at the Arlingfords’ bal masque on the next night! And he was to play there after the theater! He finally went to bed and dreamed of columbines and shepherdesses, queens and flower girls, all with eyes like those of the girl he loved, begging him to play the “Dream” waltz. The next day was years long, and the play that night dragged insufferably. At last he was free, however, and, with the other members of the orchestra", he put his violin In its case and took the subway to the Arlingfords. He was accustomed to the extravagance of the rich, but the magnificence of the ballroom tonight fairly took his breath. "I must put all this nonsense of mine out of my head,” he thought. “A girl accustomed to things like this is not for me even to tatnv about.” And resolving to put away forever the little waltz, the music he had learned to associate with the girl, he took his place among the musicians on the stage. Henry of Navarre aanced with Mother Goose, Napoleon with Dolly Madison, and a Crusader with Miss Muffet. Clowns and columbines, Turks and fairies, soldiers and milkmaids flew past in a mad whirl, but all were masked and Billy had no idea which maid might be the girl he adored. In spite of his newly-made resolutions, he watched eagerly during the unmasking, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl, but she was not to be seen. A servant handed him an envelope. He read the inclosed note eagerly. Someone had asked him to meet her in the winter garden immediately. Billy crushed the note into his pocket, made his excuses, and, with the aid of the servant, found the winter garden. Under a bay tree, looking as demure as a Quakeress, was the missing Miss Etheridge. She smiled and held out her haad. “Good evening, Mr. Kennard.” Billy was afraid to touch her hand, and more afraid to speak. But it was up to him to say something. ‘ “I am —you-are —that is—were ybu the person who sent for me?” he began awkwardly, after he had taken her hand for an instant. He knew he was bungling dreadfully and reddened. “Yes. Won’t you sit down?” She smiled. “I sent for you,” she went on, “to find out why you don’t play that beautiful waltz you composed. I spoke to Mr. Richard Amberson, a friend of Mr. Etheridge, about it. He is the music publisher, you know, and he is here tonight waiting to hear your music.” Billy gasped. “You spoke to Richard Amberson for me! Why, if he’d take hold of my work it would make my fortune. How in the world can I thank you, Miss Etheridge?” “Don’t thank me! Besides I’m not Miss Etheridge. I’m Marjorie Watson, at your service,” with a jolly little bow. “Poor relative and social secretary rolled into one, and treated better than she deserves by everyone,” she added. Billy’s head was swimming. Things were happening too fast for him to comprehend. • His goddess was not only stepping down to earth smiling, but she was holding out promises for the future. "It is all too wonderful to be true. Miss Watson. I can scarcely believe that I am awake. But I’ll answer your question about the waltz. I have learned to associate it with you and —” he stopped. "Well?” demurely. “I cannot tell you part without telling all,” he went on quickly, “and l cannot do that —now. You have known me only ten minutes and you wouldn’t understand, I’m afraid. I thought you were Miss Etheridge,” he added. Marjorie stood up and laid her hand on his arm. “Perhaps I understand more than you think,” she said. "Won’t you come tomorrow and tell me all about it?” “Yes,” agreed Billy eagerly. “Then let us go back so you can dig up your waltz from the bottom of the pile and play it for Richard Amberson,’’ Marjorie said mischievously. “I’ll hunt him up mid tell him to listen."