I was inexpressibly grateful, even through all my fright at his rashness; but he had yet another surprise for me. He said: "I wanted, too, Clara, to make you a little present, to give you a keepsake that would last long and would remind you daily of—of—er the years you have passed in my theatre."
He drew a small box from his pocket. "A good girl and a good actress," he said, "needs and ought to own a—" he touched a spring, the box flew open—"a good watch," he finished.
I gave a cry, I could not realize it was for me—I could not! I clasped my hands in admiration instead of taking it, so, with his thin, sick man's fingers, he took it from its case and dropped it in my lap. I caught it then, and "Oh!" and again "Oh!" was all that I could cry, while I pressed it to my cheek and gloated over it.
Literally, I could not speak, such an agony of delight in its beauty, of pride in its possession, of satisfaction in a need supplied, of gratitude tremendous and surprise immeasurable were more than I could find words for. If you are inclined to think this exaggeration, remember how poor I was—had always been; remember, too, there were no cheap watches then; this was of the best make and had a chain attached as well; then think how great was my need of it for the theatre, day and night, and for traveling. By my utter inability to earn such a thing measure my joyful surprise at receiving it, a gift.
It was one of the red-letter days of my life, the day I owned a watch. My thanks must have been sadly jumbled and broken, but my pride and pleasure made Mr. Ellsler laugh, and then the carriage was there, and laughter stilled into a silent, close hand-clasp. As I opened the door of the dusty old hack, I glanced up and saw the first star prick brightly through the evening sky. Then the hoarse voice said, "God bless you!" and I had left my first manager.
As I stepped out of the carriage at the depot, glancing up again I saw the sky sown thick with stars, like a field of heavenly daisies. I smiled a little at the thought, then suddenly drew my watch to see the time, and hurried to my train. Thus grateful for a kindly send-off, made happy by a gift, I turned my back upon the old, safe life and brightly, hopefully faced the new. For I was young, and therefore confident; and it is surely for the old world's need that God has made youth so.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINTH
My first Humiliating Experience in Cincinnati is Followed by a Successful Appearance—I Make the Acquaintance of the Enthusiastic Navoni.
It is a deep humiliation to relate my first experience in Cincinnati, but for reasons I set it down.
A friend of mine, who hailed from Cincinnati and who wished to serve me, had said: "One thing I think I can do for you, friend Clara, I can save you the weariness and annoyance of a long search in a strange city for board. My wife and I were never so comfortable in our lives before as we were at the house of a Mrs. Scott. She is a gentlewoman, therefore she never pries, never gossips, never 'just runs in a moment,' when you want to study a 'part.' Her charges are reasonable, the table a little close, perhaps, but the cooking perfect. You and your mother would suit her demands as to regularity of habits, quiet conduct, etc., completely, and going there so early in September you will stand a good chance of securing a room. Try for 'ours'—it was so sunny and bright." And I, delighted at such a prospect, looked upon my letter of introduction as a very valuable document—a sort of character from my last place, and early on Monday morning went forth from my temporarily sheltering hotel to find Mrs. Scott and beg her to take me in on the word of her boarders of a year ago.