The Contralto

Rev. Charles Maloy, C. M.
St. Joseph's Parish, Emmitsburg, Md.

Chapter 10 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 1

The first duty of the morning was a visit to the hall where the artists were at work. Uncle Bennett was putting the finishing touches to the stage, while the painters were filling in a large canvas representing an interior. Everything was well advanced, the one cause of anxiety being the main curtain expected from New York, and each time the artists made diligent inquiry about it. This morning a dispute having arisen between them about some detail in their work, it was referred to the Professor on his entrance. Stoner based his contention on knowledge acquired on rare visits to Jacksontown, Carrigan on a two years' residence in the city and weekly attendance at the Gaiety. The matter being of minor importance Harry brought concord by telling them that as two interiors were to be produced, each might have his way.

In a corner he noticed the diminutive shortstop of the baseball team, endeavoring to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. He knew well the reason of the youngster's presence, yet could not resist the temptation to put him to the test. Going over beyond hearing of the workers, he asked:

"Why are you not in school, Lester?"

"We ain't got none."

"How does that happen?"

"Today's apple-butter day."

"Apple-butter day?"

"Yes, sir, everybody's makin' apple-butter for winter," with a slight accent of contempt for such ignorance. "Look out there," pointing to the back yards where large cauldrons simmered and women and children were busily engaged paring apples or adding fuel to the fires. The Professor felt grateful for the loyalty of the boys which could resist the attractions of a local festival to keep Carrigan on his job. All day the watchers relayed one another.

At the office, news awaited him. The enterprising editor had subscribed to a clipping agency as a means of progress, and as Harry entered held in his hand a batch of extracts from the Chronicle. The article on "A Living Wage" was reproduced in part by a city daily with comment on the precision which brought down the theoretic principles of economics to the conditions of everyday life. Galt was jubilant and under the fire of his congratulations the assistant glowed with boyish pride. A long and intelligent discussion on the future phases of the campaign followed, the editor inclining to the aggressive, to pursue the present advantage with a direct consideration of the injustice of the twelve-dollars-per-month wage prevalent in Emmitsburg.

The Professor stuck to his make-haste-slowly programme. They had stirred up something and, it would not be wise to make a further move until the "Barons" showed their hand. Plenty of copy could be made by attacking George Perry, who was up for re-election as representative of the district with a record very much open to question. Galt acquiesced, after argument, proceeding to write a rhymed leader, telling the Hon. George what Emmitsburg and the county would do to him in November. Harry worked at his Question and Answer column, continuing to take flings at the Western Maryland.

They had not been busy long when the telephone at the editor's elbow rang, and the assistant heard this side of the conversation over the wire.

"Yes, this is Mr. Galt—yes, Doctor," a long and attentive pause during which there was evident the rumble of a heavy voice, then—"I see, Doctor, what about the subscriptions, many have paid for the year?—Oh, no, I could not think of that, I shall have a list made and refund pro rata—Goodbye, Doctor," hanging up the receiver. He laughed for a moment, but there was a hollowness in his merriment.

"The Barons have showed their hand."

"Give me three guesses."

"Take them."

"Father Flynn has put the Chronicle under the ban, the faculty in August conclave assembled, has determined that the reading of newspapers is interfering with the application of the students to their books, hence has reached the conclusion to interdict the admission thereof."

"Right you are."

"I've seen it before."

"Now we shall proceed to pour hot shot into them."

"Not at all, they would say we are actuated by spite, we shall leave the discussion of local conditions severely alone for the present, henceforth we act. You are going to return their subscriptions and nevertheless sell more papers at the College than ever before. The faculty has made the Chronicle forbidden fruit and we can trust to the original instincts of Young America to get it."

"It's up to you to find matter for those two columns," reluctantly denying his inclination to precipitate a fight.

"Leave it to me, I shall carry the contest into the enemy's country. I begin a series of literary articles in our next issue which will make the faculty sit up and take notice."

Recalling his promise to visit Greavy, the Professor crossed the street to the plumbing shop. Here he was met by a short, thick-set individual whose heavy jaw, quick eye and knotted muscles, in no way belied his repute as a prize-fighter or wrestler. The foot-light project was soon outlined, the plumber showing intelligence in grasping the details of just what was needed. About to leave, Harry remarked that he had not seen Greavy at the rehearsals.

"Who, me?"

"Certainly, why not?"

"I don't know, I ain't much on singing."

"We intend to have other performances, a variety show perhaps later, a mixed programme with athletic features. It is a pleasant place to while away an hour or two in the evenings."

"I'd be glad to come, Professor, only the way it is you see, I don't think the people of your club would want me."

"Come up tonight and find out."

"Maybe I will."

"See here, Greavy, I shall not take no for an answer, I will expect you. Good-day."

Standing on the steps of the shop, he was undecided what to do next. The atmosphere of the editorial mom was not alluring to his soul, when he contrasted it with the sunshine all about him. This was a sign that he was coming to a normal condition of mind and nerves. It was only latterly that the weather made any impression on him, that he was mindful of sunshine or cloud, and both were equally acceptable in his eyes.

While he endeavored to make up his mind an all-powerful motive hove in sight. Miss Tyson sauntered up Main Street. From a distance he admired her figure, the evidences of will power, which made themselves plain in the muscular determination of each firm step, and the heart for any fate in the total unconsciousness of the carriage. A closed parasol which dangled over her shoulder, added to the whole nonchalant expression of the girl. He waited for her:

"May I come along?"

"If duty at the Chronicle office does not forbid," smiling.

"What do you know, may I ask, about my duties at the Chronicle office?"

"There is a certain vulgar expression in use hereabouts anent the recognition of one's epidermis in a tanyard. I know any sentence penned by you, you write just as you talk."

"That's remarkable though not highly complimentary for I fear I talk rag-time mostly."

"I don't know that I gather your meaning from your musical simile, but I do know you are the writer of certain articles in the Chronicle."

"What are the indices?" not above fishing for compliments from his beautiful companion.

"They would be hard to point out, but in reading what you write I can hear your tones, see your facial expression, watch your eyes flash, feel—I don't know what. Is that telepathy?"

"Sounds very much like it. Are the facial expression, the flashing eyes, pleasant, when beheld through the medium of the printed page?"

"You wish to draw me into criticism of yourself, don't you?" a quick look followed by a dropping of the long lashes.

"Yes, I am desirous to have my character read by one possessed of such clairvoyant powers." "More sarcasm."

"No, my dear Miss Tyson, I am really sincere." "Then go to a gipsy," she advised, but with signs of relenting.

"I am absolutely sincere," he continued, "I have been an unfathomable sea to my own soundings. I have walked through life until lately without much self analysis. Success crowned my every effort, I took it as a matter of course. My one ambition has always been to learn as much as possible about the world scheme not from experience but through deas, intending eventually to shut myself up in a tour d' Ivroir.' Only since finding myself a nervous wreck and—" he paused, then went on defiantly—"a victim of alcohol did I realize that others are necessary in life's equation."

"Your weakness is no cause for regret," said the girl without the least sign of shock, "it's simply a lesson from the great book of experience, it has helped to bring you out of yourself. No good man ever let a thing like that conquer him."

"Could you have faith in a man of that kind?"

"I would not consider that much of a display of faith, most women desire some weakness in a man. I think no woman can love a paragon of virtue if such exist; it is fear or selfishness, if she prefer such. That was your reference to the 'Fighting Chance.'" "Yes, I was attracted to that poor fellow by his heroic effort at reform."

"He made a good fight but never won by sticking to his house. His creator should have made him go out and take an interest in the world, should have animated him with Goethe's philosophy—may I quote without pedantry?"

"Anything from the German is a la mode."

"I read this in translation and underscored it. 'I have always affirmed that no one ever cures a moral sorrow, a somber melancholy, except through the contemplation of nature and by a sincere interest in the external world. Application of the soul to actual phenomena procures little by little for us contentment, light, and knowledge.' "

While the Professor admired her acuteness and felt flattered that he should be present to her in her reading, she continued: "As for the girl, I have nothing but contempt for her. She loved him from the first, else why did she lead him to think so by that scene in the window-seat at two in the morning? I know all the pessimism about the foolhardiness of marrying a man to reform him, but what is marriage if it does not mean just that? A woman should fill a man's life so completely he will need nothing else, she should give him so fully of herself he will have room for nothing else, and believe me, it is her fault if she does not."

Twelve noon rang out, and both turned, for they had come out beyond the village limits. The walk back, once more, was silent, though both minds were active. Woman-like, Marion speculated whether she had not been too forward in her declaration of views, too pedantic in her exhibition of knowledge of human nature. The man endeavored to estimate the girl walking beside him, strong in body, and as he had just learned equally strong in mind. His knowledge of the sex was limited, gathered a longe, always tinctured with a certain amount of contempt for those he classed intellectual. His estimative faculty was taxed to catagorize this specimen He had on first acquaintance placed her out of reach of the bluestocking coterie, resting satisfied as pedants often do with a generalization borrowed from Pascal, "The heart has reasons which the mind wots not of." When Miss Tyson spoke, her mind was receiving dictation from her heart. Entering Main Street, she said laughing:

"Talk about something or the gossips shall say we have been quarreling."

"Right again, but the chain of thought I was following was extremely pleasant."

"Like most pleasant things, expensive?"

"Do you know Greavy, the plumber?"

"Of course! everyone knows everyone else here, though the lines of social demarcation are drawn in the matter of entertainment. Greavy saved my precious life once."

"I have invited him to rehearsal this evening, I have a purpose in doing so. You will be kind to him and make him feel at home?"

"I shall not find it the least difficult, as I have always admired Greavy for the pluck he shows by remaining in this town in face of the opposition he meets. The society element so-called has entered into a conspiracy to cut him dead because forsooth he is an ex-prizefighter or wrestler. Last Christmas, a crowd of mountaineers came down for their usual fuss, but Tom took the matter out of John Glass's hands and when he was finished the time honored raid was but a memory for the mountain boys. Greavy only strengthened the prejudice against himself."

They parted at the Square, after he had asked for another seance as he called it, and Mr. Galt having seen them passing the office had cryptically propounded the question, "Why not?"

Center square of town looking west ~ 1896

The rehearsal was in full swing, Halm pounded out the accompaniment to the vocal duel between the soprano and contralto over the love of the tenor, shouting approval between portions of the recitation. Forman, with the Professor, stood at the back discussing methods of advertising that would draw the crowd, the other members scattered through the hall were chatting and laughing softly. On the window-sill was a pair of clubs which Harry had hunted up for use in his lessons to Miss Seabold.

A hush which fell on the groups caused him to look towards the door where Greavy stood wearing the expression of a boy who has sneaked into the circus. Immediately the Professor made for him with out-stretched hand, while the dentist assured him how glad all were to have him with them. There was cordial recognition of the newcomer from every part of the hall, Greavy blushing, his mouth twitching nervously as he was led back. His gaze lighting

on the clubs, his hands went out towards them instinctively.

"You have used these, Mr. Greavy?"

"A little," at the same time executing the simpler movements of the manual.

"Hand it to Torn when it comes to the athletic stuff; he stood off the 'German Tiger' for an hour," announced Dr. Forman.

"Quit your kiddin', Doc" modestly.

"What's the matter with having a meet, Professor, and getting a bunch of talent from the city to show the mossbacks there are real gentlemen in the sporting world?"

"We may come to that later."

Halm spun round on the stool announcing the finish of the first act and calling for the chorus to take up the second. The Professor was at his side in an instant, whispering something, then declared the work over for that evening. The others gathered about him in wonder, for it was still early even from Emmitsburg standards. Saying something about going stale with too much rehearsing, he approached Greavy, who still held the clubs, saying:

"Come, Mr. Greavy, give an exhibition of club swinging, strike up something lively please, Mr. Halm," and before he could protest the wrestler was on the stage giving a display of the exercise which took the breath of the onlookers. When he quit, the applause was long and generous, the boys shouting "more! more!" The Professor silenced them, asking:

"Don't you young people dance?"

"Sure!" was the unanimous response.

The floor cleared, partners were selected, Dr. Forman taking Vinny Seabold, Mallon chose Miss Topper, Marion stood shoulder to shoulder with the embarrassed prize-fighter. The waltzing went on apace, marked here and there with a false note from the piano caused by the turning of Halm, anxious to enjoy the spectacle. It was evident Greavy was a graduate from the school of Terpsichore and after a time he and Marion had the floor to themselves. They danced patently for the love of it; the power and grace of the pair as they glided over the floor were inspiring to look upon. The girl glowed as the strong arms of the plumber swept her through the dizzy mazes, while the Professor recalled the bored looks on the faces of young people whom he had seen at many a function in the past. Here was red blood with infinite possibilities. In his slow moving mind, and it was slow moving in concrete matters, a twinge of something like jealousy was beginning, when Halm jumped up from the piano with:

"Oh, I say Professor! what I was going to say was—could we not have a dance? My wife can get one up in fine style, she knows all about favors and patronesses and all such."

"Yes, do Professor," pleaded the girls.

"Very well, only wait till we have scored with the operetta."

Halm did several steps of a waltz by himself much to the amusement of the crowd. Vinny seated herself at the piano and Marion, taking hold of the old musician, danced about the room while once more applause filled the place and spread out over Roberts-burg, causing sleeping dogs to awake and give alarm.

In retiring, Harry whispered to Marion, "I could love you for what you did tonight."

"For enjoying myself with a splendid dancer?" Walking home Forman asked Greavy, "How's the dancing school coming on, Tom?"

"There ain't going to be any, Doc."

Chapter 11

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