“But you have not always played with dolls,” said the man as he elevated his brows.
“I am sorry to say I have not. The next important event of my life was the death of my father, which caused my first real sadness. I was fourteen then; how well I remember the night after we buried all that was left of our dear protector. I dressed for bed, then, as was my custom, went to say good-night to papa and mamma; my prayers were always said at my father’s knee; that night from force of habit I went from the door of my room and walked straightway to my father’s chair and was just bowing my head as I prepared to kneel, when the vacant chair caught my eye. Oh, sir! I can’t tell you how desolate, how dreary I felt when I fully realized that the blessed privilege of snuggling into his lap and putting my arms around his neck and having a good talk with him was gone forever; my father always trusted me as a good friend and companion, confiding in me and often advising with me on different topics pertaining to his sermons, so that even at this tender age I was well advanced in mental training; he never told me no if I asked him if I should read a certain book, or go any place, or do anything; if my act did not meet his approval he never indulged in a long lecture about disobedient and headstrong children, but would take me gently into his arms and say, ‘Now, let’s see, we will talk it over,’ and before I left him I would know and understand why my contemplated step was wrong and no amount of persuasion would induce me to go contrary to his wishes. Not only would he cause me to see things his way on these occasions, but he would insert some request, some little point he wanted me to look up in the Bible or history for him, so that my mind became so full of interest in doing these things that my own ideas were submerged. I was told once by a girl friend who was hurt at some little indiscretion on my part that I need not be so smart, my father was not always a preacher, while I, in the full confidence of religion and clerical importance, naturally supposed that he had been and replied to her sharply that ‘I knew better.’
“‘Well, I know better, too,’ she retorted, ‘for my papa knew him when he was a bad, wicked man, so there, now!’
“I was so hurt and humiliated that I burst into tears, and made no reply but went home and running into my father’s arms, I cried and sobbed until I was sure I should die; it was a long time before I could calm myself sufficiently to answer questions which my father and mother poured in upon me. Finally I told them the circumstances; I noted the pallor which spread over papa’s face, but mistook it. I thought he was angry.
“In about thirty days from that time my father was called to go to the country, some sixteen miles, to officiate at the funeral of an old member of his flock. The day was bitter cold; the wind howled, while the snow went swirling and drifting everywhere. It was necessary for him to drive; he arrived home late that night, chilled and benumbed from the cold and exposure; in three days pneumonia had added poor papa to its long list of victims.
“A parson’s salary is not a source of large bank accounts, and by the time all the expenses which were incurred by the illness and death of my father were paid we were without means; then the regulation donation party was inaugurated and by that means we were put in possession of a sufficient amount of the necessities of life to exist on for several months, and to help, the official board met and passed a resolution that they would not engage a regular pastor for the remainder of the winter, so mamma and I could ‘just as well’ live in the parsonage right along until further notice. Christmas passed that year with as much sadness in it for me as there had been joy and pleasure in the preceding ones; cold, dreary winter days did nothing to enhance the value of our lives; then came spring, ushered in by the songs of birds and the breath of roses. The official board met again and a new pastor was called to take the place of him who had been the light of my life. The members of the church were not thoughtless by any means, for they, in their goodness, provided for us; in a certain town in Eastern Indiana there is a Baptist hospital; it was through the generous and kindly directed influence of my father’s flock that my mother was offered the position of matron of this institution. We took up our abode there and it was there that my real life began.
“When I was fifteen years old I tried my hand at writing again, but not for a doll this time; I was successful enough to have a story received by a popular magazine, for which they paid me fifty dollars. This brought me not a little notoriety and I was asked to join a literary club and practically taken into the arms of the social leaders of the town. If I say I was good looking, I do so only because others declared such to be the case. I seemed to be a favorite; I was much wanted at the different social functions for I had learned to play and sing. It was little wonder that when a young man came into the city and arranged with the Ladies’ Club to produce an opera, solely with local talent, that my name was mentioned as being the one for the leading part. The part required youth, grace, modesty and vigor, a combination which the director told me was not easily found.
“‘The Little Tycoon’ was the title of the production. My part was a singing part and it required much training and long practice. I strove to please the young man who had the affair in charge and worked many hours after the other performers had gone home. The young man, Leon La Dew, was also greatly interested in my success and he spent hour upon hour with me that I might attain the proficiency which I aspired to reach.
“The entertainment was a success from every standpoint, so much so, that hundreds were turned away and by request it was repeated on the following night; after the last performance, I hurried home with my mother, as I had upon all occasions of rehearsal during the preparations for the event. Next day the papers were full of praise for the participants, many of them getting what we now call a ‘special.’ An interview with Mr. La Dew held a conspicuous place on the first page. He lauded all the people who had so ably assisted, and the interview closed by saying, ‘Mr. La Dew informs the press that much of the success of the performance was due to the excellent work of Miss Althea Noble, in fact, Mr. La Dew assures us that should Miss Noble aspire to the stage as a profession, she, without a doubt, has a great future before her.’
“How my heart throbbed, how my blood surged. I was not stage struck, I actually abhorred the thought of it, but I had been praised by Mr. La Dew. I wept with joy; he had been so kind, so sweet and tender, never scolding or fretting when we girls made blunders, he had just that even, patient temperament which will conquer all things, and he was rather handsome, too. Not strikingly so, but so much so, that if he suddenly came into a room crowded with people, no matter how unassuming he might appear, everyone would see him. Then for me there was a familiar look and attraction in his manner. I felt as if I had known him always. I once expressed my feelings about him to mamma, and she explained that the feeling was born of a memory, Mr. La Dew being the first man I had associated with in any manner since my father’s death. I accepted her explanations for the time, but before Mr. La Dew was gone from the town three days, I knew I was in love. On the fifth day, after he had gone, I ran to my mother, uttering screams of delight, all brought about by reason of a letter which I pushed into her hands as she gazed at me in an amazed way. The letter was from him. It said, ‘I have arranged to put on “The Little Tycoon” here (a near-by town), but am unable to fill the part which you so ably took in your home town; I showed the ladies here the press notices, whereupon they insisted on my asking you to help us out here, hence this letter. Now, if you can be prevailed upon to come, please advise me by wire. You will, of course, be liberally compensated.