Dorothy's Triumph

Slapping his knees at the recollection, Ephraim guffawed loudly, and with such enthusiasm that Aunt Betty forgot her infirmities and joined in most heartily.

“The joke was on me that time, Ephy,” she finally said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “But we landed old ‘Mistah Gar,’ which I suppose was what we wanted after all.”

“Wish I might hook a gar to-day,” said Jim.

“En like as not yo’ will, chile, ’case dem gars is mighty plentiful in de bay. Hardly a day go by, but w’at two or t’ree ob ’em is yanked outen de sea, en lef’ tuh dry up on de bank.”

“Well, we’ll try our hand at one if possible. Good-by, Dorothy! Good-by, Aunt Betty. Have plenty of good things for lunch,” were Jim’s parting words, as he and Ephraim strode off down the path toward the gate. “We will be as hungry as bears when we get back, and I’m smacking my lips now in anticipation of what we’re going to have.”

“Go along!” said Aunt Betty. “You’re too much trouble. I’ll feed you on corn bread and molasses.” But she laughed heartily. It pleased her to see Jim enjoying himself. “Oh, maybe I’ll cook something nice for you,” she called after him – “something that will make your mouth water sure enough.”

“Yum yum! Tell me about it now,” cried Jim.

“No; I’m going to surprise you,” answered the mistress of Bellvieu, and with a last wave of their hands, Jim and the old darkey disappeared behind the big hedge.

They were hardly out of sight before the figure of a little, gray-haired man walked slowly up to the gate, opened it, and continued his way up the walk, and Dorothy Calvert, her heart beating wildly, realized that she was being treated to her first sight of the famous music master, Herr Deichenberg.

As the Herr paused before the steps of the Calvert mansion, hat in hand, both Mrs. Calvert and Dorothy arose to greet him.

Dorothy saw before her a deeply intellectual face, framed in a long mass of gray hair; an under lip slightly drooping; keen blue eyes, which snapped and sparkled and seemed always to be laughing; a nose slightly Roman in shape, below which two perfect rows of white teeth gleamed as Herr Deichenberg smiled and bowed.

“I hope I find you vell dis morning, ladies,” was his simple greeting.

“Indeed, yes, Herr,” Aunt Betty responded, offering her hand. “I am glad to see you again. This is the young lady of whom I spoke – my great-niece, Dorothy Calvert.”

“H’m! Yes, yes,” said the Herr, looking the girl over with kindly eye, as she extended her hand. Then, with Dorothy’s hand clasped tightly in his own, he went on: “I hope, Miss Dorothy, dat ve vill get on very good togedder. I haf no reason to believe ve vill not, an’ perhaps – who knows? – perhaps ve shall surprise in you dat spark of genius vhich vill make you de best known little lady in your great American land.”

“Oh, I hope so, Herr Deichenberg – I hope so,” was the girl’s fervent reply. “It has been my greatest ambition.”

The Herr turned to Aunt Betty:

“She iss in earnest, Madame; I can see it at a glance, and it iss half de battle. Too many things are lost in dis world t’rough a lack of confidence, and de lack of a faculty for getting out de best dat iss in one.”

The Herr sank into one of the deep, comfortable rockers on the gallery, near Aunt Betty, as Dorothy, at a signal from her aunt, excused herself and went in search of Dinah, with the result that mint lemonade, cool and tempting, was soon served to the trio outside, greatly to the delight of the Herr professor, who sipped his drink with great satisfaction. After a few moments he became quite talkative, and said, after casting many admiring glances over the grounds of old Bellvieu:

“Dis place reminds me more than anything I have seen in America, of my fadder’s place in Germany. De trees, de flowers, de shrubs – dey are all de same. You know,” he added, “I live in Baltimore, dat iss true, yet, I see very little of it. My list of pupils iss as large as I could well desire, und my time iss taken up in my little studio.”

“But one should have plenty of fresh air,” said Aunt Betty, “It serves as an inspiration to all who plan to do great things.”

“Dat sentiment does you credit, madame. It iss not fresh air dat I lack, for I have a little garden in vhich I spend a great deal of time, both morning und evening – it iss de inspiration of a grand estate like dis. It makes me feel dat, after all, there iss something I have not got out of life.”

There was a suspicious moisture in the Herr’s eyes, brought there, no doubt, by recollections of his younger days in the Old Country, and Aunt Betty, noticing his emotion, hastened to say:

“Then it will give us even greater pleasure, Herr Deichenberg, to welcome you here, and we trust your visits will be neither short nor infrequent.”

“Madame, I am grateful for your kindness. No one could say more than you have, and it may be dat I vill decide to give Miss Dorothy her lessons in her own home, dat ve may both have de inspiration of de pretty trees und flowers.”

“Aside from the fact that I am anxious to see your studio,” said the girl, “that arrangement will please me greatly.”

“It vill please me to be able to show you my studio, anyvay,” said the Herr.

“How long have you been in America?” Aunt Betty wanted to know, as the Herr again turned toward her.

“I came over just after de Civil War. I was quite a young lad at de time und a goot musician. I had no difficulty in finding employment in New York City, vhere I played in a restaurant orchestra for a number of years. Den I drifted to Vashington, den to Baltimore, vhere I have remained ever since.”

“And have you never been back across the water?” asked Dorothy.

“Yes; once I go back to my old home to see my people. Dat was de last time dat I see my fadder und mudder alive. Now I have few relatives living, und almost no desire to visit Germany again. America has taken hold of me, as it does every foreigner who comes over, und has made of me vhat I hope iss a goot citizen.”

The talk then drifted to Dorothy’s lessons. Herr Deichenberg questioned her closely as to her experience, nodding his head in grave satisfaction as she told of her lessons from Mr. Wilmot at Deerhurst. Then, apparently satisfied that she would prove an apt pupil, he asked to be allowed to listen to her playing. So, at Aunt Betty’s suggestion, they adjourned to the big living-room, where Dorothy tenderly lifted her violin from its case.

As she was running her fingers over the strings to find if the instrument was in tune, she noticed Herr Deichenberg holding out his hand for it.

She passed it over. The old German gave it a careful scrutiny, peering inside, and finally nodding his head in satisfaction.

“It iss a goot instrument,” he told her. “Not as goot as either a Cremona or a Strad, but by all means goot enough to serve your purpose.”

“It was a present from my Uncle Seth,” said Dorothy, “and I prize it very highly, aside from its actual value.”

“Und so you should – so you should,” said the Herr. “Come, now,” – moving toward the piano. “You read your music of course?”

Dorothy admitted that she did.

The Herr, sitting on the stool before the large, old-fashioned instrument, struck a chord.

“Tune your instrument with me, und we vill try something you know vell. I shall then be able to judge both of your execution und your tone. There iss de chord. Ah! now you are ready? All right. Shall we try de ‘Miserere’ from ‘Il Trovatore?’ I see you have it here.”

Dorothy nodded assent.

Then, from somewhere in his pocket, Herr Deichenberg produced a small baton, and with this flourished in his right hand, his left striking the chords on the piano, he gave the signal to play.

Her violin once under her chin, the bow grasped firmly in her hand, what nervousness Dorothy had felt, quickly vanished. She forgot the Herr professor, Aunt Betty – everything but the music before her. Delicately, timidly, she drew her bow across the strings, then, when the more strenuous parts of the Miserere were reached, she gathered boldness, swaying to the rhythm of the notes, until a light of positive pleasure dawned in Herr Deichenberg’s eyes.

“Ah!” he murmured, his ear bent toward her, as if to miss a single note would be a rare penance. “Ah, dat iss fine – fine!”

Suddenly, then, he dropped his baton, and fell into the accompaniment of the famous piece, his hands moving like lightning over the keys of the piano.

Such music Aunt Betty vowed she had never heard before.

With a grand flourish the Herr and Dorothy wound up the Miserere, and turned toward their interested listener for approval. And this Aunt Betty bestowed with a lavish hand.

“I am proud indeed to know you and to have you for a pupil,” the music master said, turning to Dorothy. “You have an excellent touch and your execution iss above reproach, considering de lessons you have had. I am sure ve shall have no trouble in making of you a great musician.”

Flushing, partly from her exertions, partly through the rare compliment the great professor had paid her ability, the girl turned to Aunt Betty and murmured:

“Oh, auntie, dear, I’m so glad!”

“And I am delighted,” said Aunt Betty. “That is positively the most entrancing music I have ever heard.”

Herr Deichenberg showed his teeth in a hearty laugh.

“She shall vait until you have practiced a year, my little girl,” he said, winking at his prospective pupil. “Den who shall say she vill not be charmed by vhat she hears? But come,” he added, sobering, “let us try somet’ing of a different nature. If you are as proficient in de second piece as in de first, I shall have no hesitation in pronouncing you one of de most extraordinary pupils who has ever come under my observation.”

Dorothy bowed, and throwing her violin into position, waited for the Herr professor to select from the music on the piano the piece he wished her to play.

“Ah! here iss ‘Hearts und Flowers.’ Dat iss a pretty air und may be played with a great deal of expression, if you please. Let me hear you try it, Miss Dorothy.”

Again the baton was waved above the Herr professor’s head. The next instant they swung off into the plaintive air, Dorothy’s body, as before, keeping time to the rhythm of the notes, the music master playing the accompaniment with an ease that was astonishing. In every movement the old German showed the finished musician. Twice during the rendition of the piece did he stop Dorothy, to explain where she had missed the fraction of a beat, and each time, to his great satisfaction, the girl rallied to the occasion, and played the music exactly as he desired.

The ordeal over at last, Herr Deichenberg was even more lavish in his praise of Dorothy’s work.

“Of course, she iss not a perfect violinist,” he told Aunt Betty. “Ve could hardly expect dat, you know. But for a young lady of her age und experience she has made rapid progress. Herr Wilmot, who gave de first lessons had de right idea, und there iss nothing dat he taught her dat ve shall have to change.”

Out on the broad gallery, as he was taking his leave, the professor looked proudly at Dorothy again.

“I repeat dat I am glad to meet you und have you for a pupil. Vhen shall de first lesson be given?”

Dorothy threw a quick glance at Aunt Betty.

“Not for at least four weeks, Herr Deichenberg,” said that lady.

“Eh? Vhat!” cried the old music master. “Not for four veeks! Vhy iss it dat you vait an eternity? Let us strike vhile de iron iss hot, as de saying has it.”

“But, Herr, my little girl has just returned from a winter of strenuous study at the Canadian school of Oak Knowe, and I have promised her a rest before she takes up her music.”

“If dat iss so, I suppose I shall have to curb my impatience,” he replied, regretfully. “But let de time be as short as possible. If you are going avay, please notify me of your return, und I vill manage to come to Bellvieu to give Miss Dorothy her first lesson. But don’t make it too long! I am anxious – anxious. She vill make a great musician – a great musician. So goot day, ladies. It has been a pleasure to me – dis visit.”

“Let us hope there will be many more, Herr Deichenberg,” said Aunt Betty.

They watched the figure of the little music teacher until it disappeared through the gate and out of sight behind the hedge. Then they turned again to their comfortable rockers, to discuss the visit and Dorothy’s future.

“Oh, Aunt Betty,” confessed the girl, “I was terribly nervous until I felt my violin under my chin. It seemed to give me confidence, and I played as I have never played before. Somehow, I felt I could not make a mistake. I’m so glad the Herr professor was pleased. Isn’t he a perfect dear? So genteel, so polished, in spite of his dialect – just the kind of a man old Herr Von Barwig was in ‘The Music Master.’”

Dinah came out on the gallery to say that Dorothy was wanted at the ’phone.

“Oh, I wonder who it can be?” said the girl. “I didn’t think any of my friends knew I was home.”

She hastened inside, and with the receiver at her ear, in keen anticipation murmured a soft:

“Hello!”

“Hello, Dorothy, dear! How are you?”

It was a girl’s voice and the tones were familiar.

“Who is this? I – I don’t quite catch the – ! Oh, surely; it’s Aurora Blank!”

“You’ve guessed it the first time. I only learned a few moments ago that you were home. I’m just dying to see you, to learn how you liked your trip and the adventures you had at school. You’ll tell me about them in good time, won’t you, Dorothy?”

“Why, yes, of course. On our camping trip, perhaps.”

“Won’t that be jolly? Papa says we’re to stay in the mountains as long as we like – that’s what he bought the auto for. Gerald and I have been planning to start the first of the week if you can be ready.”

“Oh, I’m sure we can. I’ll speak to Aunt Betty and let you know.”

“Do so, and I’ll run over to Bellvieu to-morrow to discuss the details. Did that nice boy, Jim Barlow, return to Baltimore with you?”

“Yes; he is going with us on the trip – at least, Aunt Betty said he was included in the invitation.”

“Indeed he is! I like him immensely, dear – lots more than he likes me, I reckon.”

“Oh, I don’t know!”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Aurora, I’m afraid you’re trying to make a conquest.”

“No, I’m not – honor bright. But he’s a dear boy and you can tell him I said so.”

“I’ll do that,” said Dorothy, with a laugh. Then she said good-by and hung up the receiver. “I guess I won’t!” she muttered, as she went out to join Aunt Betty again. “Jim Barlow would have a conniption fit if he ever knew what Aurora Blank had said.”