The Contralto

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

Chapter 24 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 1

Lent came early that year and religious Emmitsburg went, according to custom, into sack-cloth and ashes. Out of respect to the penitential spirit all social functions including theatricals were suspended, stock-taking in soul matters became uppermost in every serious minded resident. The younger and lighter element, having drank deeply of the spring of jollity, was chagrined, declaring that many Lents were to come in its life, while opportunities for future amusement were matter of speculation. Plays must be given after Easter and the least that could be done was to hold some rehearsals. The Professor compromised with this discontent, permitting quiet meetings on the evenings when there were no church services. Miss Lansinger, whose opposition had gradually faded in presence of others' success, was cast in the leading role of "Esmeralda."

Marion Tyson, wearied of waiting, determined to execute her grand coup; she and Mrs. Halm, whose health warranted the journey, went quietly to New York. The village having long since learned that the comings and goings of the young woman were past finding out, viewed her departure without undue excitement. Harry approved her going because of his programme of the square deal, though in the back of his brain was the undefined hope her voice might be found unsuited, thus in some way removing one factor in his insoluble equation. He spent the evening before her departure at the Tyson home, telling the girl points of interest to be visited in the Metropolis and warning her against the bluff methods of voice masters of which he had read in the papers. Marion was in a mood bordering on hilarity, assuring him there could be no possibility of failure; she felt the call of the footlights in her soul, she was destined to a great career. It was all so unlike her customary attitude he failed to relish it and left without suggesting correspondence, nor was he at the train next morning to see her off.

Spring likewise came early, but whether influenced by the church calendar no one can say, though Uncle Bennett after seventy years of observation had no doubts on the question. The snowdrops peeped up, the dandelion paraded its heavy green, the lone tanager who had fought the elements all winter was joined in his morning salute by returning robins, the smoke of burning brush was blown in the open windows by the brisk breezes. The sap could almost be heard oozing up the capillaries of the maples, the renewing blood resounded in every human salutation. The editor greeted the assistant as he strolled into the sanctum late on the morning of Marion's departure:

"Isn't this weather enough to make the sap run in a lamp post? It's lucky too, for we've got extra work."

"Which is?"

"Higbee is gone to Boston to get married and we must run the whole plant."

"I am willing to work night and day shift to contribute to Louis' happiness."

"He will do the same for you when the time comes."

The old shirt sewing factory of East Main Street

They were interrupted in their duties by Uncle Bennett, who entered announcing his intention of taking up immediately the remodeling of his old shop, transforming it into the factory for the manufacture of shirts. Galt respectfully submitted his fears the move might be premature, the back-bone of winter might not yet be broken. The old man laughed these out of countenance:

"Never 'wowed it to fail. Mr. Berry told me years ago that spring begins with Lent and if you consult the Almanac," (that of Hagerstown, of course, for no other was of any authority), "you'll see I'm right."

No one would be so rash as to deny in Bennett's presence the infallibility of the instrument which had brought prestige to Hagerstown and, figuratively speaking, placed that city on the map. Emmitsburg would mortgage its homes if necessary to procure the quarter of a dollar to purchase it, and all the free patent medicine almanacs remained without takers on Mr. Tad. Zimmerman's counter. The editor was inclined to argue, however, saying: "I don't see any connection between the church calendar and weather conditions."

"There are a great many things in this world we don't see the connections of, Mr. Galt, yet they are there just the same. Look over yonder, " pointing to a gap in the mountains, "at Aunt Sally's Hanging Basket. Do you see that blue haze? Well, that means spring. Ain't no connection perhaps, but when you see it year after year you get to believe in it."

"Usus te plura docebit, Galt," quoted the Professor, and the carpenter departed to hire help for the work. Powerful Loot Betty, who had heroically resisted the temptations, which would lead him back to another sojourn in the rock-bound mansion of the sheriff, was the first to find employment, his wonderful strength dispensing, as Uncle Bennett said, with much lifting-machinery. Others of the county's winter boarders, passing through town on their peregrinations, were invited to join and soon a full corps was at work. An addition was built to the old shop, making in all room for about fifty machines. The Professor's personal efforts were instrumental in having the building as near perfect as possible from a sanitary standpoint, the board acquiescing in all his suggestions. "They are our own people," he argued, "we are bound to do everything necessary for their physical comfort."

He had, indeed, come down from the clouds of metaphysical theory to the solid ground of pragmatic action. The housing of Loot Betty was a more urgent question than the production of Sir John Byles' "abundance, at once absolute and accessible." He was turning his every effort to bring about the fulfilment of Engle's demand: "that men should emerge from merely animal conditions into human ones," though the German socialist's name seldom occurred to his mind. Even the campaign of newspaper education lost some of its attraction in face of his work for the amelioration of those who came within the direct sphere of his activity. That Loot should have a decent pair of overalls seemed of more importance than that Father Flynn recognize his obligations as an employer of labor. His daily life was a full one; for the first week of the factory equipment he retired at nine o'clock and slept like a plowman.

But the little fly in the ointment began to make itself evident, Marion had been gone for seven days and no letter had come. True there had been no agreement to correspond, but if her protestations were genuine she would send at least a formal note telling of the progress of her quest. Day by day he scanned the mail for the hand writing with which he was reasonably familiar, but he looked in vain.

His disappointment began to show itself in a crustiness to all with whom he came in contact. The Rector remarked his humor and, behind his back, smiled as only he who knows the human heart can smile.

Walking from the factory where he had wounded the feelings of the big negro by addressing him laconically, he was accosted by the dentist, standing in the open door of his office with his dainty wife, who saluted with a face redolent of the spring.

"Walk in Prof," invited Dr. Forman, "what do you think of this moving picture machine?"

"I am not an expert; this is the first I have ever inspected."

"Got it from Chicago, paid enough for it, too, but I'll bet the darned thing won't work."

"I don't think it is a very good machine," wailed Mrs. Forman, "but Hus would insist on buying it."

"You could get a guaranteed one from New York," trying to manifest an interest he did not feel.

"They want too much for things in that burg," grumbled the dentist.

"Speaking about New York," chirped the lady, "how is Marion enjoying her visit?"

"I really don't know, Mrs. Forman," blushing much against his will.

"Don't fib, Professor; Vinny has had several letters and postals from her, you cannot tell me she hasn't written you." For once in his life he showed diplomacy and smiled benignly at the little inquisitor as one would say, "I know more than I shall tell," though internally he was in anything but tranquil mood. Marion could find time to write to others amongst her pleasures and duties but none for him. His interest in the cinematograph was awakened in effort to hide his confusion, he asked questions about the mechanism, as to the methods of its operation. He learned the dentist hoped to reap a golden harvest by exhibiting before the natives of the surrounding hamlets, and if his hopes were realized he would start a traveling carrousel through the territory during the coming summer. Harry was cynically amused at the first practical result of his uplift policy in the entertainment line, and Mrs. Forman withdrew to her household cares without any definite knowledge of the actual state of the affair between him and Marion. As she left, Dr. Forman beckoned him to the rear, where he requested that he try some Bourbon purchased with the view that its judicious distribution would increase the demand for store-teeth. Pouring a drink he held it out saying:

"Tell me what you think of that."

"Sorry, Doctor, but that stuff and I parted company some time ago," throwing the contents of the glass into the sink.

"I seldom touch it myself," abashed at the action, "but I thought you might like to sample it."

Before further discussion could occur a small girl entered, requesting money to make some purchases for the dentist's wife. There was a long catechism as to the articles needed, a strict injunction that the penny change be returned to the head of the house. As the child left, Harry took up the subject of conversation: " You need never fear falling into the habit of over-indulgence," a remark which Dr. Forman took as a tribute to his strength of will, and that noon, told his wife her plan for discovering the Professor's weakness was a dismal failure.

The news he had just heard did not tend to tranquilize the Professor's mind, nor did he find his former ability to laugh at heart questions coming to his rescue. Marion Tyson's absence was evidently not the remedy for thought disturbance, she had the faculty of turning up at the most unexpected moments. Instead of entering the Chronicle, he merely waved to his chief in passing and continued out Main street. He was getting desperate in the soul finding process, and felt if he had the girl present he would show her he was no edition of "Pure Reason." Suddenly it came to him what a fool he had been in advising her to go to New York. By this he had given up all claim to her consideration, had confessed he was too cowardly to undertake the duty of her happiness. She loved him but what if she met someone in her present wider field who was masterly, one who would take her by force, He moved on thinking that Marion seemed destined to finish all his incomplete tasks. She had contributed more than he to Tom Greavy 's rehabilitation, and here she had saved Loot Betty, after his rescue from the clutches of the law.

Her image had stood before him this morning in Bowman's office when he threw the whiskey into the sink. A letter from him was, after all, expected, according to his interpretation of the conventions, for he had failed to ask her to write, and with a resolution to get her address from her mother he turned back.

Emmit House - Then known as the Hotel Slagel ~ 1919
(Note Motter house on right under 'Hotel Slagel' sign)

At the Emitt House he met Miss Seabold, his face lighting up with pleasure for he had come to look on this girl as a sister to whom he showed phases of his character he would hide from Miss Tyson. Despite her youth, there was a grave sympathy in her relations with him which was wanting in the other, and though he would declare he despised pity, he fell under its spell unconsciously. He had been much in Vinny's company since the holidays, and now offered to accompany her on a stroll out the road he had just traversed. She accepted him for companion suggesting, however, they take the other route for the sake of novelty.

"I have had a letter from your sweetheart; she says you did not answer her last, and is much disturbed lest anything be wrong."

"Oh, Daisy, you mean," he hastened, "I have been neglectful, I shall write this afternoon."

Who could overcome his scruples if such existed? His magnanimity looked puerile in the light of subsequent reflection, he had not known enough to grasp happiness when it lay to hand. Yet high-thinking has its compensations, or she may not have an operatic voice. He came across Mrs. Betty, digging in her little garden. The old negress, wiping her hands on her apron as he approached, saluted with:

"Morning 'Fessor, how's your health 's morning?"

"Very good, Mammy, how are you getting along?"

"Splendid 'Fessor, since you all kept Lieutenant outen jail, he's done gone to work and 's a good boy now."

"Did he find employment before Uncle Bennett hired him," he asked, merely to continue the talk.

"Yas, suh, Miss Marion Tyson done come afteh him the day you and Mr. Seabold freed him, and she give him work."

"Indeed! Miss Tyson is a very lovable young lady and has a knack of finishing work others begin," a remark Mammy did not fully understand.

"'Deed she is, and I never lays down on my bed at night 'thout asking the Lawd to bless her, and especial to give her a husband who'll love her and cherish her world without end, amen."

"I hope He will, Mammy," piously.

"They's two people always in mah prayehs, Miss Marion and you, suh, and the Lawd most generally heahs mah prayehs, too."

"I have had letters from her, too," laughing at his first misapprehension, "she writes she is having a glorious time."

"Miss Tyson you mean?"

"Of course, I mean Marion."

"I am glad she is enjoying herself, does she say anything about her voice tests?"

"She hasn't mentioned the matter; I thought she would write of it to you."

"She hasn't written of any matter to me." "Nor you to her?"

"New York is a large village, I don't think Miss Tyson likely to call at General Delivery."

"I can give you her address—"

"As Miss Tyson made mention of me in her letters, or expressed any desire to hear from me?"

"Not exactly," she answered slowly for she was in a quandary. Marion had sent word that his every move be reported to her, leaving her friend under the obligation of resorting to mental reservation should he ask any questions. If Vinny noticed any serious change in him she was to telegraph at once, telephoning her message to Rocky Ridge to be forwarded to New York.

"I don't need the address."

"There it is, take it and don't be foolish," giving him a card.

They talked of Daisy, her sister deprecating some of the escapades of the tomboy, he declaring the child was developing according to the best principles of life. They were halted by the red pasty mud, which was the one discord in the spring beauty, where a macadam road did not exist. Back down Main street they came, passing Mrs. Beck, who was out with her perambulator for the first time since winter, and was talking with Miss Lansinger. Both parties saluted, the organist saying when the others were beyond hearing: "Marion Tyson better watch out."

"He'll fool them both yet," commented the Moralist.

At luncheon another shock was administered to his egoism, the Rector announced that he too was in receipt of a letter. The older man seemed to have no other topic of conversation, but in all he said there was not the slightest indication that Marion was in the least concerned about the existence of the Professor. The whole affair began to get on his nerves; he could not understand the unwonted obtuseness of his friend, who seemed unable to grasp the fact that the subject was painful. At the end of the meal he was wearing, despite all effort, a lugubrious countenance and refused under the plea of business to join in the customary smoke.

He wrote a long letter to Daisy, apologizing for his tardiness, telling her of his friendship and a hundred nothings such as he thought would appeal to the child. On reading this effusion the tomboy immediately sent a note to Vinny inquiring what was the cause of the quarrel between her friend and Marion, and giving orders that it be patched up as she would not permit anyone to make him unhappy.

Seated at his desk that night, when even resurrected Emmitsburg was wrapped in sleep, he lighted his pipe and thought of what he should write. During the evening an elaborate argument had been unfolding itself to his mind, a logical demonstration that he had found his soul, a series of compromises, of give and take, wherein he thought their future happiness might be provided for. When it came to the putting of this on paper he hesitated, the flow of reasoning was effectually dammed. In the rings of smoke he saw visions of Marion applauded by enthusiastic audiences, while in his ears sounded the trample of many feet coming along a corridor, a jostling of bodies as the boys rushed into the room. Marion's face vanished, there stood healthy young barbarians, their eyes alight with the fires of budding intelligence. He did not write.

Chapter 25

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