Outside it was bitterly cold.All day a freezing wind had blown from off the Lake, and since five in the afternoon a fine powder of snow had been falling.The coachmen on the boxes of the carriages that succeeded one another in an interminable line before the entrance of the theatre, were swathed to the eyes in furs.The spume and froth froze on the bits of the horses, and the carriage wheels crunching through the dry, frozen snow gave off a shrill staccato whine.Yet for all this, a crowd had collected about the awning on the sidewalk, and even upon the opposite side of the street, peeping and peering from behind the broad shoulders of policemen--a crowd of miserables, shivering in rags and tattered comforters, who found, nevertheless, an unexplainable satisfaction in watching this prolonged defile of millionaires.
So great was the concourse of teams, that two blocks distant from the theatre they were obliged to fall into line, advancing only at intervals, and from door to door of the carriages thus immobilised ran a score of young men, their arms encumbered with pamphlets, shouting: "Score books, score books and librettos;score books with photographs of all the artists."However, in the vestibule the press was thinning out.
It was understood that the overture had begun.Other people who were waiting like Laura and her sister had been joined by their friends and had gone inside.
Laura, for whom this opera night had been an event, a thing desired and anticipated with all the eagerness of a girl who had lived for twenty-two years in a second-class town of central Massachusetts, was in great distress.She had never seen Grand Opera, she would not have missed a note, and now she was in a fair way to lose the whole overture.
"Oh, dear," she cried."Isn't it too bad.I can't imagine why they don't come."Page, more metropolitan, her keenness of appreciation a little lost by two years of city life and fashionable schooling, tried to reassure her.
"You won't lose much," she said."The air of the overture is repeated in the first act--I've heard it once before.""If we even see the first act," mourned Laura.
She scanned the faces of the late comers anxiously.
Nobody seemed to mind being late.Even some of the other people who were waiting, chatted calmly among themselves.Directly behind them two men, their faces close together, elaborated an interminable conversation, of which from time to time they could overhear a phrase or two.
"--and I guess he'll do well if he settles for thirty cents on the dollar.I tell you, dear boy, it was a _smash!"_"Never should have tried to swing a corner.The short interest was too small and the visible supply was too great."Page nudged her sister and whispered: "That's the Helmick failure they're talking about, those men.
Landry Court told me all about it.Mr.Helmick had a corner in corn, and he failed to-day, or will fail soon, or something."But Laura, preoccupied with looking for the Cresslers, hardly listened.Aunt Wess', whose count was confused by all these figures murmured just behind her, began over again, her lips silently forming the words, "sixty-one, sixty-two, and two is sixty-four." Behind them the voice continued:
"They say Porteous will peg the market at twenty-six.""Well he ought to.Corn is worth that."
"Never saw such a call for margins in my life.Some of the houses called eight cents."Page turned to Mrs.Wessels: "By the way, Aunt Wess';look at that man there by the box office window, the one with his back towards us, the one with his hands in his overcoat pockets.Isn't that Mr.Jadwin? The gentleman we are going to meet to-night.See who I mean?""Who? Mr.Jadwin? I don't know.I don't know, child.
I never saw him, you know."
"Well I think it is he," continued Page."He was to be with our party to-night.I heard Mrs.Cressler say she would ask him.That's Mr.Jadwin, I'm sure.He's waiting for them, too.""Oh, then ask him about it, Page," exclaimed Laura.
"We're missing everything."
But Page shook her head:
"I only met him once, ages ago; he wouldn't know me.
It was at the Cresslers, and we just said 'How do you do.' And then maybe it isn't Mr.Jadwin.""Oh, I wouldn't bother, girls," said Mrs.Wessels.
"It's all right.They'll be here in a minute.I don't believe the curtain has gone up yet."But the man of whom they spoke turned around at the moment and cast a glance about the vestibule.They saw a gentleman of an indeterminate age--judged by his face he might as well have been forty as thirty-five.Aheavy mustache touched with grey covered his lips.The eyes were twinkling and good-tempered.Between his teeth he held an unlighted cigar.
"It is Mr.Jadwin," murmured Page, looking quickly away."But he don't recognise me."Laura also averted her eyes.
"Well, why not go right up to him and introduce ourself, or recall yourself to him?" she hazarded.
"Oh, Laura, I _couldn't,_" gasped Page."I wouldn't for worlds.""Couldn't she, Aunt Wess'?" appealed Laura."Wouldn't it be all right?"But Mrs.Wessels, ignoring forms and customs, was helpless.Again she withdrew from any responsibility in the matter.
"I don't know anything about it," she answered.
"But Page oughtn't to be bold."
"Oh, bother; it isn't that," protested Page."But it's just because--I don't know, I don't want to--Laura, I should just _die,_" she exclaimed with abrupt irrelevance, "and besides, how would that help any?"she added.
"Well, we're just going to miss it _all,_" declared Laura decisively.There were actual tears in her eyes.
"And I had looked forward to it so."
