The Contralto

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

Chapter 8 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 1

Uncle Bennett was busily engaged in constructing the stage, according to plans and specifications every line of which he had insisted on discussing with the Professor, though the latter had protested his ignorance in such matters and offered him carte blanche in the affair. One point to which the old fellow called particular attention was the stipulation for an eight-hour day and the union wage. He had worked, fifty odd years ago, for two dollars a week' and found, rising at three in the morning and walking five miles to begin at daylight, but when he got a shop of his own and employed a dozen men, he adopted this schedule. Formerly he did all the work at the college and academy, but retired from business on a large scale rather than sacrifice what was to his mind a sacred principle.

Each morning the Professor looked on while the old fellow fashioned the timbers, and though no expert in joining and carpentry, could not but admire the perfection of the work. When quizzed about this and told that much of it would not show, Bennett reverentially asked, "Wasn't the Saviour a carpenter?" Harry delighted to draw him into conversation about his seventy years of life. Story after story was told, the narrator never for a moment desisting from his sawing, nailing, or dovetailing. He was toothless, an insistent tobacco-chewer, and slightly deaf. The point of his stories was nearly always lost in an expectoration or a stroke of the hammer. The employer did his best to have him repeat some of them or to cease work at the crucial moment in an account of some brilliant repartee made by Mr. Berry, Bennett's predecessor in the village's theological arena, but to no purpose. His conscience would allow of not a minute wasted when he was being paid for his time.

One day, as he narrated a remarkably scintillating debate in which his Elijah had been victorious, the point was again lost in a hammer stroke.

Harry caught his arm with: "See here, Uncle, I am paying you for this work, I want you to stop when you come to the point of a story so that I may catch it."

"No sir, no sir," between strokes, "I had Tom Lansinger for partner for thirty years and lost thousands of dollars by his stories. Tom used to quit work when he was telling one, it would take him half an hour, and I'll be darned if there was ever any point to his stories at that."

The Professor was compelled to resign himself to the carpenter's view and did what he could to garner wisdom and history under grave difficulties. The rehearsals were going smoothly. The first call for volunteers brought out nearly all the young people in town, and caused a flurry of excitement.

Miss Lansinger attended only to announce she could take no part, as she would be absent on a tour of the eastern states. This declaration evoked a loud guffaw from Forman and various expressions of merriment from the other members. Halm was not in the least disconcerted, innocently asserting he would find several first-class sopranos amongst the young ladies assembled. This was sufficient to cause Miss Lansinger to withdraw and subsequently to predict the direst failure for the venture.

Vinny Seabold, who had been prevailed upon to attend by Miss Tyson, was immediately suggested for the soprano lead and accepted graciously. Her voice, while not over strong, was a clear one which controlled the higher register with ease and grace, a voice that had in it a hint of spring with whistling robins and crocuses peeping above ground. Marion's was suggestive of full summer, rich, luxuriant, strong, it penetrated one's soul like the wealthy sunshine of a June day.

Halm was in an ecstasy of delight at the progress of the undertaking, dancing, singing, drumming on the piano with the agility of a boy. The chorus of young people at first inclined to make sport of the antics of the musician. This threw no damper on his ardor and soon he had all working with zeal for the success of the performance. Dr. Forman, when put to the test, demonstrated that he could sing for more than "sour pickles," while young Mallon's tenor was quite pleasant to hear. Everything foretold success.

Two carriage painters were engaged to produce the scenery. Lack of permanent employment had caused these poor fellows to become more or less chronic alcoholics. The Professor took them from Elder's barroom to put them to work, guaranteeing a limited amount of stimulant, for thus only could he hope to retain them in his employ. The proscenium curtain was being painted in New York and the home artists awaited with impatience its arrival that they might institute comparison with their own productions.

Such activity could not but arouse interest in the town. Day by day Peter Burkett, Whitmore, Doc Reigle, the veterinarian, and all the members of the store assembly visited the hall, making comments on the doings. For a long time, Dr. Brawner restrained the cravings of curiosity, but one morning the Professor happening in earlier than usual caught him examining everything critically. The Deacon looked askance at it all for he had been taught that "theayters" were one of the devil's most powerful means for the ruin of souls. Having voiced his views to Bennett, he was overwhelmed by the old theologian's declaration that the devil was too busy with the carping tongues of Emmitsburg to bother about the young people singing and dancing.

The Chronicle contained fresh notices each week their daughters to appear in tights? Disgraceful! I am sure the college and academy shall step in and interfere, see if they don't!"

"My dear Mrs. Beck, the Professor don't give a snap of his finger for the people over there," pointing toward the institutions, "and they shall find out shortly that what he says in this town, goes."

With this parting shot, the dentist went whistling up the steps of the hall leaving the good woman transfixed by the terrifying news she had just heard. She looked both ways for someone to whom she might pour out her Jeremiad on the impending downfall of moral Emmitsburg; no one appearing, all unmindful of her resolution never to cross Mrs. Hopp's threshold, she pushed the baby carriage straight for that lady's door. Entering without the least apology, she began her plaint:

"Do you know what your Professor fellow is doing now?"

"God Almighty! not murdering anybody, I hope."

"Murdering souls; going to put on what they call an opera and have the young girls dancing in tights."

"Mary Beck, you're a fool," taking a pinch of snuff, "who's been stuffing you now?"

"There's no stuffing, Doctor Forman, who has a part, just told me all about it."

"Dr. Forman's a good deal of a liar, when he's talking to sensible people, but Lord deliver us, when he has a simpleton like you to gabble to."

The custodian of morality seemed to realize from the Holy Terror's imperturbable calm that the calling attention to the preparations, lauding not only the members of the east, but giving full praise to Uncle Bennett, and "Professors" Stoner and Carrigan, the scenic artists.

Mrs. Beck's perambulator moved up and down the sidewalk in front of the hall all day long. The arms of the good woman pushed with a Sysiphus-like determination, her ears deafened to the occasional whimpers of the child, her brow furrowed with lines betokening a will that may die in a just fight but never surrender. The dentist in his trips between orders for teeth came in contact with the unhappy lady and never left without implanting more seeds of sorrow in her overwrought mind.

"Doctor," she addressed him one morning, "tell me just what that Professor and that old fool Halm are going to have?"

"An opera, Mrs. Beck, an opera," airily.

"What is that anyway, is it like a cantata at the academy or a Shakespeare play at the college?"

"Oh no, an opera is modern, all singing and dancing, a ballet you know," attempting a high kick.

"A ballet," she screamed, "in tights and doing high kicks?"

"Yes, indeedy," he lied gravely, "it's going to be the greatest thing Emmitsburg ever saw. I would not be surprised if the whole troupe went on the road and ended up in New York or Chicago." "And are the mothers of this town going to allow dentist had been drawing the long bow, yet she was by no means ready to surrender. It was the whole matter of theatricals that aroused her indignation and particularly in connection with the Professor who had committed the unpardonable sin of ignoring herself and her baby, though by this time he had acquired a reputation for fondling other youngsters.' She could see no good in him.

"I think the town was better off before he came,' she argued, "what do we want with theayters and such goings on? They're wrong and don't do the young people any good. Joe was telling me the laundry girls at the Academy are already giving trouble and talking about refusing to work for five dollars a month and board."

"More power to them! It's about time they found out how they are being treated. But as for the theayter, I'm mighty glad they're going to have it. I am going to buy tickets as soon as they are out. I have a grand-daughter on the vaudyville stage and she's as respectable as any girl in this town."

"It may be all right for city young people, but I think it will only turn our girls' heads. I am sure the authorities will stop it."

"The authorities, pooh! Do you think they are going to scare that young fellow? Not a bit of it. He's here to give them a fight if I know anything, and when he's through with them they'll know something hit them. I am going to have him and Marion and Vinny Seabold here to tea tomorrow evening."

"Vinny Seabold? Why, Mrs. Hopp! and you know that her father is a—"

"Stop right there, Mary Beck, you don't know any more about Jim Seabold than I do. Because he has been bright enough to keep his business to himself, to make money at his law, the people here put him down as a thief. What he is or what he does is none of my business, but his daughter is one of the sweetest girls in this town, and she is going to sit right there at that table and eat my fried chicken and enjoy my hospitality."

With a sigh expressive of the weariness of one who fights for the right and fights alone, Mrs. Beck arose to go. The whole world, that is her world, wore a saffron aspect and the deep clouds of Emmitsburg's moral break-up lowered upon her. She knew not whither to turn in her heavy mood of sorrow and her state of mind boded no happiness for the long-suffering spouse when he returned from his duties at the newborns of the academy. Desdemona's little body was never more aweary of this wicked world than the good lady's soul as she pushed the perambulator up Main Street.

Dr. Forman, coming from the hall, crossed over to the parsonage to where Bob Crittendon was sweeping the steps.

"Where's the Professor?" he demanded.

"Him and the dog and the hoss is gone out for a run,"

"That's a deuce of a note."

"Anything wrong in the hall?"

"Lots, Jimmy Carrigan's off on a bender and Syl says he can't work alone. The next thing you know that fellow will be gone too."

"Well I'll be jiggered! That darned rascal to go and play a trick like that on the Professor and him 'lowin' 'em three drinks a day, too. Say, Doc, let's me and you find him, choke him sober and get him back before the Professor knows anything about it. What do you say?"

"And while we are doing that Syl will get away and then we'll have nobody, I've been holding line for him all morning, somebody's got to watch him."

There was a sound of hoofs, the dog rounded the corner followed by his master on horseback. Pulling up in front of the rectory, Harry remarked the look of anxiety on both faces, inquiring the cause. The dentist and bay hesitated to tell, fearing a manifestation of that temper which showed itself on occasion of Mr. Annan’s strictures. At length they laid bare the facts.

"Poor devil!" was all he said, then giving Bob directions about the horse, telling Forman to watch Stoner, giving him a drink that would be found behind a radiator in the west corner, he walked towards the Spangler:

At the hotel he met the proprietor, who had come to like him and inquiring if Carrigan were inside said he wished to speak with him. Elder returned, saying the artist was in the bar, but in a very ugly mood. Harry smiled and entered where the painter stood with two companions.

"Have a drink with me, boys," he invited. "Hello, Profesh! kinder give you shlip 's morning, didn't I?"

"Have a drink, Jimmy," he repeated.

All willingly joined, each taking his preference, the Professor, ginger ale. Carrigan, observing this, said:

"Helluva good fellow, Profesh is, don't drink him-self but buys for others."

The drinks consumed, he hooked his arm in that of the artist, who, much to the surprise of his companions, walked meekly out. Kellner provided a room and soon Carrigan was wrapped in slumber under the influence of the bromide and paraldehyde.

Leaving the hotel, he warned the proprietor that it was no one's business why he had been there nor where the painter was. Jim winked at this and near the door said:

"I understand, Professor, and by God! I wish we only had more like you around here."

At the hall he assured the dentist that Carrigan was in good hands giving no details, however, relieved him of his duty as Stoner's assistant and went on with the work, making suggestions which brought out the scenes more fully. Syl talked about the cleverness of his children of whom he had a houseful, and Forman scoffed jealously at him, declaring youngsters a nuisance—he had none. While standing off to catch the perspective of a wood scene, a voice behind exclaimed:

"God Almighty! that's pretty," it was Mrs. Hoppe. "That's certainly grand," she continued as Harry welcomed her to the improvised studio. "They look exactly like trees and bushes. You don't mean to tell me, Syl Stoner, that you did that?"

"Yes, ma'am, I did."

"Well, who'd think you had anything like that in your chuckle head. Professor, all I got to say is you're miraculous, I believe you could kick blood out of a turnip. Where's Jimmy Carrigan?" looking around.

"He's down town for a few minutes," answered Harry, and Stoner turned to his work.

"Doc Forman, you're a devil, " giving attention to the dentist.

"I know I am several kinds, Mrs. Hopp, but just what particular deviltry have I been committing lately."

"Filling that poor Mary Beck's head with a passel of lies about ballet dancers, tights, and high-kicking. Not that she don't deserve it though, for meddling in other people's business."

The dentist blushed guiltily and shuffled nervously as he stole a hasty glance at the Professor, over whose countenance spread a shade of annoyance.

The Holy Terror had another and more important affair and hurried to it:

"Professor, I want you to take tea with me tomorrow evening."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hopp, I shall be honored."

"You won't have to hobnob with an old woman neither, I am going to have the two prettiest and sweetest girls in this town," casting a look of defiance at Forman.

"Am I included in your invitation?"

"Well, I guess not, stay home and tend to your own wife. Goodby, Professor, I shall be waiting for you at six o'clock."

At lunch, Harry told the Rector of Mrs. Hopp's invitation, both laughing heartily at her blunt social methods. Her religious methods were similar; she always attended the early service, getting in a little late and leaving before the others moved, lest she be observed. She rented the last pew, paying in advance, but when the plate was passed never deigned it a look. Every month she came to the rectory with a very generous contribution.

Chapter 9

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