"But yes," urged he."It isn't against the rules.The boss's wife smokes.Many ladies who come here do--real ladies.It is the custom in Europe.Why not?" And he produced a box of cigarettes and put it on the table.Susan lit one of them and once more with supreme physical content came a cheerfulness that put color and sprightliness into the flowers of hope.And the sun had won its battle with the storm; the storm was in retreat.Sunshine was streaming in at the windows, into her heart.The waiter paused in his work now and then to enjoy himself in contemplating the charming picture she made.She was thinking of what the wagon restaurant man had said.Yes, Life had been chipping away at her; but she had remained good stone, had not become rubbish.
About half-past ten Lange came down from his flat which was overhead.He inspected her by daylight and finding that his electric light impressions were not delusion was highly pleased with her.He refused to allow her to pay for the coffee.
"Johann!" he called, and the leader of the orchestra approached and made a respectful bow to his employer.He had a solemn pompous air and the usual pompadour.He and Susan plunged into the music question, found that the only song they both knew was Tosti's "Good Bye.""That'll do to try," said Lange."Begin!"
And after a little tuning and voice testing, Susan sang the "Good Bye" with full orchestra accompaniment.It was not good;it was not even pretty good; but it was not bad."You'll do all right," said Lange."You can stay.Now, you and Johann fix up some songs and get ready for tonight." And he turned away to buy supplies for restaurant and bar.
Johann, deeply sentimental by nature, was much pleased with Susan's contralto."You do not know how to sing," said he.
"You sing in your throat and you've got all the faults of parlor singers.But the voice is there--and much expressiveness--much temperament.Also, you have intelligence--and that will make a very little voice go a great way."Before proceeding any further with the rehearsal, he took Susan up to a shop where sheet music was sold and they selected three simple songs: "Gipsy Queen," "Star of My Life" and "Love in Dreams." They were to try "Gipsy Queen" that night, with "Good Bye" and, if the applause should compel, "Suwanee River."When they were back at the restaurant Susan seated herself in a quiet corner and proceeded to learn the words of the song and to get some notion of the tune.
She had lunch with Mr.and Mrs.Lange and Katy, whose hair was very golden indeed and whose voice and manner proclaimed the Bowery and its vaudeville stage.She began by being grand with Susan, but had far too good a heart and far too sensible a nature to keep up long.It takes more vanity, more solemn stupidity and more leisure than plain people have time for, to maintain the force of fake dignity.Before lunch was over it was Katy and Lorna; and Katy was distressed that her duties at the theater made it impossible for her to stay and help Lorna with the song.
At the afternoon rehearsal Susan distinguished herself.To permit business in the restaurant and the rehearsal at the same time, there was a curtain to divide the big room into two unequal parts.When Susan sang her song through for the first time complete, the men smoking and drinking on the other side of the curtain burst into applause.Johann shook hands with Susan, shook hands again, kissed her hand, patted her shoulder.
But in the evening things did not go so well.
Susan, badly frightened, got away from the orchestra, lagged when it speeded to catch up with her.She made a pretty and engaging figure in the costume, low in the neck and ending at the knees.Her face and shoulders, her arms and legs, the lines of her slender, rounded body made a success.But they barely saved her from being laughed at.When she finished, there was no applause so no necessity for an encore.She ran upstairs, and, with nerves all a-quiver, hid herself in the little room she and Katy were to share.Until she failed she did not realize how much she had staked upon this venture.But now she knew; and it seemed to her that her only future was the streets.Again her chance had come; again she had thrown it away.If there were anything in her--anything but mere vain hopes--that could not have occurred.In her plight anyone with a spark of the divinity that achieves success would have scored."I belong in the streets," said she.Before dinner she had gone out and had bought a ninety-five cent night-dress and some toilet articles.These she now bundled together again.
She changed to her street dress; she stole down the stairs.
She was out at the side door, she was flying through the side street toward the Bowery."Hi!" shouted someone behind her.
"Where you going?" And overtaking her came her staunch friend Albert, the waiter.Feeling that she must need sympathy and encouragement, he had slipped away from his duties to go up to her.He had reached the hall in time to see what she was about and had darted bareheaded after her.
"Where you going?" he repeated, excitedly.
A crowd began to gather."Oh, good-by," she cried."I'm getting out before I'm told to go--that's all.I made a failure.Thank you, Albert." She put out her hand; she was still moving and looking in the direction of the Bowery.
"Now you mustn't be foolish,", said he, holding on tightly to her hand."The boss says it's all right.Tomorrow you do better.""I'd never dare try again."
