University of Virginia Library

24. CHAPTER XXIV.
EQUAL TO AN EMERGENCY.

The fiery cross that so awed Christine and her little
group of auditors, was to be the closing scene of the
evening entertainment. It was of metal, and by a skilful
adjustment of jets was made to appear as if all aflame.
While the others were intent on Christine's words, and she
in the interest of her theme had quite forgotten him, Dennis
made all his arrangements, and at the critical point
narrated in the preceding chapter, he turned on the gas
with the most startling effect. It seemed a living, vivid
refutation of Christine's words, and even she turned pale.

After a moment, for the emblem to make its full impression,
Dennis stepped out before them all, his face lighted
up by the luminous cross. They admitted that no Crusader
could look more earnest and brave than he.

“Miss Ludolph,” he said in firm yet respectful tones,
“I should evermore be unworthy of your respect and confidence,
what is more, I should be false to myself, false to
my faith, should I remain silent in view of what I have
been compelled to hear. That sacred emblem has not
spent its meaning, or its power. Millions to-day would die
for the sake of Him who suffered on it. Many even of
those weak, inconsistent ones that you have so justly condemned,
would part with life rather than the faint hope
that centres there,” pointing to the radiant symbol.

“You are rude, sir,” said Christine, her face pale, but
her eyes flashing in turn.

“No, he is right! he is right!” exclaimed Miss Winthrop,
springing up with tears in her eyes. “Undeserving
as I am of the name of Christian, I would die, I know I
would die, before I would give up my poor little hope,—
though I confess you make me fear that it is a false one.
But its the best I have, and I mean it shall be better. I
think a good touch of persecution that would bring people
out,would do the Church more good than anything else.”

“Pardon me, Miss Ludolph,” continued Dennis; “but
I appeal to your sense of justice. Could I be a true man
and be silent, believing what I do? Could I hear the name
of my Best Friend thus spoken of, and say not one word
in His behalf?

“But I spoke most highly of the Christ of the Bible.”

“You spoke of Him as a great, good, but mistaken
man, an enthusiast. To me He is the mighty God, my
Divine Saviour, to whom I owe infinitely more than life.
You know that I mean no disrespect to you,” he added
with gentle but manly courtesy. “I regret more deeply

than words can express that you honestly think as you do.
But if I as honestly believe the Bible, am I not acting as
you said a true follower ought? For I assure you it is a
heavier cross than you can ever know, to speak thus unbidden
where I am regarded only as a serving-man. But
would I not be false and cowardly, if I held my peace?
And if you afterwards should know that I claimed the
name of Christian, would you not despise me as you remembered
this scene?”

Christine bit her lip and hesitated, but her sense of
justice prevailed, and she said—

“I not only pardon you, but commend your course in
view of your evident sincerity.”

Dennis replied by a low bow.

At this moment there was a loud ring at the door.

“There come the gentlemen,” exclaimed Miss Brown.
“I am so glad. O dear, what a long, uncomfortable
preachment we have had; now for some fun.”

The colorless young ladies had stared first at Christine,
and then at the cross. in blank amazement.

At the word “gentlemen” they were all on the alert and
ready for real life; but Miss Winthrop left the room for a
short time.

A handsome, lively youth entered, scattering bows and
compliments on every side with the off-hand ease of an accomplished
society man. He paid no heed to Dennis, evidently
regarding him as the showman.

“Well, ladies, you have done your part,” he said, “your
arrangements seem complete.”

“Yes, Mr. Mellen; but where is Mr. Archer, our tenor?”
asked Christine. “We have only three-quarters of an hour
for music rehearsal, before we must retire to dress for our
parts.”

“Bad news for you, Miss Ludolph,” said Mr. Mellen,
coming to her side; “Archer is sick and can't come.”

“Can't come?” they all exclaimed in dismayed chorus.

“What is the matter?” asked Miss Winthrop anxiously,
coming in at that moment.

“Matter enough,” said Miss Brown poutingly, “that
horrid Archer has gone and got sick. I do believe he did
it on purpose. He did not know his parts near as well as
he ought, and he has taken this way to get out of it.”

“But he promised me he would study them all the morning,”
said Christine. “O I am so sorry. What shall we
do? Our entertainment seems fated to be a failure,” and
she spoke in a tone of deep disappointment.

“I assure you I feel the deepest sympathy for you,”
said Mr. Mellen, looking tenderly at Christine, “but I did
my best. I tried to drag Archer here out of his sick-bed,
and then I ran around among some other good singers
that I know, but none would venture. They said the music
was difficult, and would require much practice, and that
now is impossible.”

“O isn't it too bad,” mourned Miss Winthrop. “The
programme is all printed, and the people will be so disappointed.
We can't have that splendid duet that you and
Mr. Archer were to sing together, Christine. I have a
score of friends who were coming to hear that alone.”

“O as for that matter, half our music is spoiled,” said
Christine dejectedly. “Well this is the last time I attempt
anything of the kind. How in the world we are going to
get out of this scrape, I do not know. The tickets are so
high, and so much has been said, that the people are expecting
a great deal, and there is every prospect of a most
lame and impotent conclusion.”

A general gloom settled upon the faces of all. At this
moment Dennis stepped forward hesitatingly and said to
Christine—

“Have you the music that Mr. Archer was to sing?”

“Certainly! do you suppose it was of the kind that

he could make up out of his head?” said Miss Brown
pertly.

“Will you let me see it? If you are willing, perhaps I
can assist you in this matter.”

All turned toward him with a look of great surprise.

“What do you think of that from the man who sweeps
Mr. Ludolph's store?” asked Miss Brown in a loud whisper.

“I think the fellow is as presuming as he is ignorant,”
said Mr. Mellen so plainly that all heard him.

“It is not presuming, sir, to offer a kindness where it
is needed,” said Dennis with dignity, “and my ignorance
is not yet proved. The presumption is all on your part.”

Mr. Mcllen flushed and was about to answer angrily,
when Miss Winthrop said hastily but in a kindly tone—

“But really Mr. Fleet, much of our music is new and
very difficult.”

“But it is written, is it not?” asked Dennis with a
smile.

Christine looked at him in silent wonder. What would
he not do next? But she was sorry that he had spoken,
for she foresaw only mortification for him.

“O give him the music by all means,” said Miss Brown,
expecting to enjoy his blundering attempts to sing what was
far beyond him. “There, I will play the accompaniment.
It's not the tune of Old Hundred that you are to sing now,
young man, remember.”

Dennis glanced over the music, and she commenced
playing a loud, difficult piece.

He turned to Miss Ludolph and said,

“I fear you have given me the wrong music. Miss
Brown is playing something not written here.”

They exchanged significant glances, and Miss Winthrop
said—

“Play the right music, Miss Brown.”

She struck into the music that Dennis held, but played

it so out of time, that no one could sing it. Dennis laid
down his sheets on the piano and said quietly, though with
flushed face,

“I did not mean to be obtrusive. You all seem greatly
disappointed at Mr. Archer's absence and the results, and
I thought that in view of the emergency it would not be
presumption to offer my services. But it seems that I am
mistaken.”

“No, it is not presumption,” said Miss Winthrop. “It
was true kindness and courtesy, which has been ill requited.
But you see, to be frank, Mr. Fleet, we all fear
that you do not realize what you are undertaking.”

“Must I of necessity be an ignoramus because, as
Miss Brown says, I sweep a store?”

“Let me play the accompaniment,” said Christine,
with the decided manner of her own that few resisted,
and she went correctly through the difficult and brilliant
passage. Dennis followed his part with both eye and ear,
and then said—

“Perhaps I had better sing my part alone first, and
then you can correct any mistakes.”

There was a flutter of expectation, a wink from Mr.
Mellen, and an audible titter from Miss Brown.

“Certainly,” said Miss Ludolph, who thought to herself
“If he will make a fool of himself, he may,” and
she played the brief prelude.

Then prompt upon the proper note, true to time and
note, Dennis's rich, powerful tenor voice startled, and then
entranced them all. He sang the entire passage through,
with only such mistakes as resulted from his nervousness
and embarrassment.

At the close, all exclaimed in admiration save Miss
Brown, who bit her lip in ill-concealed vexation, but she
said with a half sneer—

“Really, Mr. What-is-your-name, you are almost equal
to Blind Tom.”

“You do Blind Tom great injustice,” said Dennis. “I
read my music.”

“But how did you learn to read music in that style?”
asked Christine.

“Of course it took me years to do so. But no one
could join our musical club at college who could not read
anything placed before him.”

“It must have been small and select, then.”

“It was.”

“How often had you sung that piece before?” asked
Miss Brown.

“I never saw it before,” answered Dennis.

“Why it is just out,” said Christine.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, our troubles are over
at last,” said Miss Winthrop. “Mr. Fleet seems a good
genius—equal to any emergency. If he can sing that
difficult passage, he can sing anything else we have. We
had better run over our parts, and then to our toilets.”

One of the colorless young ladies played the accompaniments,
her music making a sort of neutral tint, against
which their rich and varied voices came out with better
effect. They sang rapidly through the programme. Dennis
sustaining his parts correctly, and with taste. He
could read any music placed before him like the open
page of a book, and years of practice enabled him to sing
true, and with confidence. As he sang one thing after
another with perfect ease, their wonder grew, and when
in the final duet with Christine, they both came out
strongly, their splendid, thoroughly-trained voices blending
in perfect harmony, they were rewarded with a spontaneous
burst of applause, in which even Miss Brown was
compelled to join.

Christine said nothing, but gave Dennis a quick, grateful
glance, which amply repaid him for the martyrdom
she had led him into that afternoon.

He acknowledged the plaudits of the others with a
slight, cool bow, but her thanks with a warm flush of pleasure,
and then turned to complete his arrangements as if
nothing had happened. There was not the slightest show
of exultation, or of a purpose to demand equality in view
of what had happened. His old manner returned, and he
acted as if they all were strangers to him. They exchanged
significant, wondering glances, and after a brief
consultation, retired to the dining-room, where coffee and
sandwiches were waiting. Miss Winthrop and Christine
sincerely hoped that Miss Brown would invite Dennis out,
but she did not, and as it was her house, as she had said,
they could not interfere. Dennis heard the clatter of knives
and forks, and saw that he was again slighted; but he did
not care now. Indeed in the light of the sacred emblem
before which he had stood, he had learned to have a genuine
pity for them all.

He remembered how the rich and great of the world
had treated his Master.

Then too Christine's kind, grateful glance seemed to
fall upon him like a warm ray of sunlight.

After they were through and about to dress for their
parts, Miss Brown put her head within the door and said
shortly—

“You will find some lunch in the dining-room.”

“Dennis paid no heed to her, but he heard Miss Winthrop
say,—

“Really, Miss Brown, that is too bad after what he
has done and shown himself to be, I wonder that he does
not leave the house.”

“He will not do that till all is over,” said Christine.

“Then he may as soon as he chooses,” said Miss
Brown. She was a girl of violent prejudices, and from
her very nature would instinctively dislike such a person
as Dennis Fleet.

“Well,” said Miss Winthrop, “he is a gentleman, and
he gave the strongest proof of it when he quietly and modestly
withdrew after achieving a success that would have
turned any one's head, and which ought to have secured
him full recognition.”

“I told you he was a gentleman,” said Christine briefly,
“and I consider myself a judge,” and then their voices
passed out of hearing.

Dennis having arranged everything so that he could
place his hands right upon it, found that he had half an
hour to spare. He said to himself, “Miss Ludolph is
wrong. I shall leave the house a short time; I am a most
unromantic individual, for no matter what, or how, I feel,
I will get hungry. But I am sure Miss Brown's coffee and
sandwiches would choke me. I have already swallowed
too much from her to care for any more, so here's for a
restaurant.”

Miss Winthrop hastened through her toilet in order
that she might come down and speak to Dennis while he
was alone. She wished to thank him for his course and
his vindication of the truth, and assure him that she both
respected and would treat him as a true gentleman. She
went into the back parlor, but he was not there; then she
passed to the dining-room, but found only servants clearing
away and preparing for the grand supper of the evening.

In quick alarm she asked,

“Where is Mr. Fleet?”

“Is it the man in the back parlor, mum? He's just
after goin' out.”

“O girls,” exclaimed Miss Winthrop, rushing up stairs,
“Mr. Fleet has gone.”

And there was general consternation.