Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 256, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 November 1917 — Her Debut [ARTICLE]

Her Debut

They were having their coffee, after a rather elaborate dinner —Quavers and Olivej. Quavers, the composer, was the fashion; though not ten years before he bad been trotting about In soled boots, and recherche little dinners, such as the one he had Just eaten, were not at all in his line. His host, Sir John Oliver, known to his friends and acquaintances as “Coaly,” only three-and-twenty, was the son and heir ©f a great coal mine proprietor, Mathew Oliver, who had obtained his honors not because he went to bed drunk every night of his life, nor because he had risen from nothing by an extraordinary combination of brute strength and force of character, but because he had been all his life a born, leader of men. There was nothing of the rough, though, In young St John. “And Mat” had given him the best education to be had for money; he had inherited his father’s magnificent constitution; he dressed like a gentleman and he looked like a gentleman; and he had become his own waster and a patron of the drama —that sort of young man can be of much use to music and the drama. “Quite the right sort of a chap to have at your back, you know.” as Mr. Vampire Trappe, the manager, had observed to old Mr. Steel, the dramatic author. —Well, Oliver, what do you want to get out of me? Out with it; some to the point at once. Your dinner was a good dinner.” “Oh, hang it. Quavers, you know —” “Don’t beat about the bush, my boy; diplomacy Is wasted on a chap like me. You want something, of course. I hope you haven’t been writing a sentimental song and are wanting me to set it?” “Oh, It is not so bad as that,” replied the young fellow with a blush, “though it is a sentimental matter. It is about someone I take an interest In.” “Don’t,” said Quavers; “it’s Just the one thing I never will do; I know what you want; it’s the old story. You’ve been got hold of, Oliver. She thinks she can sing or she thinks she can act, and she has told you to try and work find I am to Wchfdrk tier Into something good, and money is no object, and you’ll come down handsomely. I know, I know; but it won’t wash, my boy—you’ve come to the wrong shop.” “You needn’t sulk,” said the young fellow; "I wanted to speak to you about Lalage Broughton.” —The eves of Mr. Quavers twinkled with suppressed amusement, and he chuckled audibly. “Oh, little Lally Broughton,” he said; “what has she done? Been making an ass of yourself. and want you' letters back, eh?” “It isn’t exactly that,” replied young Oliver; “I wish I had been making a fool of myself, and if I had,” he added, with a sigh, “I shouldn’t want my letters back—there, Quavers.” “Oh, it’s as bad as that, Is it?” said tVfrQmvpnc'dPourlebonmotif.ehT Good gracious! King Cophetua and the Beggar-Maid, and all that sort of thing. Consult a doctor, my boy—chan who practices in lunacy, if possible.” . “Quavers 1” cried the young man, excitedly, “I want you to introduce me to her. I—l—hang it, man! I worship the very ground she walks on, and I’ve sent bouquets and floral banjoes, and I have sat in the sajje seat all through the long run of that new comic opera of yours, and eyery night I’ve tossed a floral tribute of some sort or other at her feet; and every night, Quavers, she has bowed and smiled at me—until last week, and then I was ass enough to put a ring and a note among the flowers, and the next day I got ’em back in a registered letter, and now she just pushes my flowers aside with her foot.”

"Of course she does; perhaps she expected a bracelet, and thought you mean.” “It Isn’t that Quavers,” said the young man f "she’s not that sort. 1 made Inquiries ; it was a mean thing to do, but I did. And I want you to Introduco me to hen, Quavers,forlknow yod’reapal of hers. And then, haps, she’d forgive me. I swear to you—” “You' needn’t, dear boy; you’ve evidently got It very badly, and I’ll oblige you; though it isn’t the sort of thing Td do for everybody; but because you’re not a bad sort of chap and you mean bqnestly. Yon do mean honestly, ehF The young fellow took Mr. Quaver’s outstretched hand. “I’m a fool," he said; “I know it, and I’ve come to a Common lot; but Pm not a howling blackguard, Quavers," he cried. “I’m sorry for you,” said the composer kindly, and he added, severely, "you’ve wasted expensive flesh-pots on me, young, man ; but I will Introduce you. You'll have to wait a fortnight, and then the run of ’The Little Siren will be over, and the next day I’m going for a little tour, and Til Introduce you to Lally Broughton In the Corning; Is that good enough?” “Quavers, you’re a brick I" cried the young man excitedly; "If —•” “Oh,'l know—*lf the devotion of •

’ ■ - . , -• •• - - - lifetime,’ etc? z Til take a soda Instead, and then TH spin yon a little yarn. “It was Just three years ago,” began the composer, “that I made little Lally Broughton’s acquaintance under very peculiar circumstances. My first comic opera had been accepted, and the final rehearsal was on. It was, to a certain extent, a dress rehearsal, and most of the people had got their clothes, but some of the shoes weren’t ready; and there wasn’t a soul in the house except a dozen artists" frojn the Illustrated papers, who were making sketches from the stalls. But the whole strength of the company was on the stage; the musicians were In their places. We began at nine-thirty a. m„ and we were not done,—not really done —till ten that night; and we went right a precious anxious time It was I can tell you. And everybody was down upon me, and Hie stage manager was down upon everybody; and the ballet master had lost his head, and the chorus ' master was like a raving maniac; and I had tumbled over the train of Miss Dulcet, the popular favorite, ourprlma donna, and she had used language to me that she must certainly have learned In Italy when she was completing that expensive education of hers; and ,we were all tired and hungry and 1 pretty utterly done up. Mr. Wackles, t the low comedian, who was playing the part of an innkeeper, had just i got through that first song of bls about the £taff of Life. He put In a lot of words of his own which he considered funny, but which the author didn’t; and he and Sparklebury, the author, were shaking their fists In each other’s faces. And the prima donna’s unde.rstudy had just sent In a medical certificate —not that I cared very much about that, for Miss Dulcet, our sheetanchor, was In splendid voice. Just then a very curious Incident happened.A little, pale, blue-eyed girl suddenly feU down all In a heap at my feet. Wackles and I picked her up and popped her Into a property chair; the girl had fainted. ** ’What’s the matter my dear?* saJdWackles kindly enough, when she came ' to herself. ! “‘Oh, Mr. Wackles!’ said the girl—for she is but a girl—‘l didn’t mean to, I really didn’t; please don’t say anything about it,’ “ ‘lt ain’t time for fainting. Miss Broughtod,’ said Wackles, beating on his ner; ’look at me—l don’t faint. When a professional lady wants to faint, she should faint out of business hours; or, If she feels she must, she should go to the canteen and get a corpse-reviver. Can I offer you anything, Miss Brough- 1 ton?’ he said, with a low bow. i ’“Please don.’t, Mr. Wackles,’ said the girl with a little sob. ‘And, oh, Mr. Wackles,’ she added—and there was an awful look about her eyes—Hs that a real loaf, sir?* she said, gazing hungrily at the staff of life, one of those long French loaves of bread, i which Mr. Wackles was carrying over his shoulder as though It had been a battle-ax. “ ‘Of course It’s real,’ cried Wackles. •“Oh, please,’ said the girl, ‘would you give me a slice of it, sir. I haven’t got a penny ln my pocket, and l haven’t tasted anything since eight this morning. These nine weeks’ rehearsals, sir, ; don’t bring any salary, and mother and ■ I are very poor.’ •“Good Lord!’ cried Wackles. Then he cut her off a great slice, and, In order to keep her in countenance, he cut off another for himself and began to eat it with great apparent gusto. “At that moment I was sent for Into the manager’s room. Sparklebury was there; so was Mr. Mephlbosheth, who represented the syndicate that was running our piece. “•Miss Dulcet has thrown up her part and has left the theater. Quavers,’ cried the manager. “•We are just bust,’ said Sparkle-

bury. "I felt that I was a ruined man. “I rushed out. I ran across the stage. ’Wackles,’ I said hurriedly to the low cet has chucked us, and there is no understudy.’ ‘“Zerubbabejl’ shouted Mr. Waek- - lee. - = ‘J. 7 '' _ “ Tlease, sir,’ cried , little Lally Broughton, clutching my arm —'oh please, Mr. Quavers, do give me a Chance, sir. I’m letter-perfect in the music and words and I know all the business; and I feel—l know I can pull you through.’ "All of a sudden I saw that the little girl In the shabby cloth jacket was an angelic being. "It was my only chance. “Tally Broughton did the trick, sir. We rehearsed the last act, she went through the other three with the principals the next morning, and In the evening we sprang our new prima donna “upon the world of fashion. “That girl has made my fortune. Oliver; I’m to be married to her this day fortnight,” added Mr. Quavers, with a smile. “I think I should like you to be my best man, because, you see, we are both In love with her.” "Quavers,” replied Oliver, after a pause, “I—l shall be delighted. You’re a lucky fellow.”—C. J. Wills in It.