I should have thought myself a hopeless case, and given up, had I not one morning overheard him boasting to some of the musicians: "That I was a good enough leading woman, he supposed, but it was as a piano pupil that I really counted for something. Why," he cried, "she has the most perfect ear, and such steadiness—a whole band-wagon of instruments turned loose on her wouldn't make her lose time!"
I smiled and felt of my even then burning ear, but still his boast encouraged me to return to my scales, which were wofully interrupted by the necessity I experienced of clawing up with my nails several old keys that were too weak to rise again having once been pressed down.
When Mr. Navoni played, and he came to one of those tired-out ivories, he put a damn in the place of the absent note, but for obvious reasons I could not do that. But Mr. Navoni was an earnest, determined, and enthusiastic teacher, and I remember him gratefully and respectfully.
The widow of the boarding-house differs from the widow of the Testament in that the boarding-house widow's cruse of oil seems always "just out," and her meal at a like low ebb. Neither my mother nor myself were used to luxuries; we expected little, and, truth to tell, we got it. To say we were nearly always hungry would be putting things quite mildly, but we were together! and so 'twas better to feel a bit "gone" under the belt than to be filled to repletion and live apart.
I worked hard at all times, and five nights out of seven I had to study till far on toward morning. The Saturday brought me a double performance, and left me a wreck; thus I thought I had a right to a bit of a treat on Sunday; and I can see the important air mother unconsciously assumed as she went forth on her secret errand—secret that no offence might be given to the economical landlady.
When the matinée was over I brought home my personal offering for our next day's comfort and pleasure—a copy of an illustrated weekly paper and five cents' worth of candy, always something hard that would last us long while we read. Thus on Saturday night, on the sill of the back window, there stood a small can of oysters, while in the top drawer rested a box marked handkerchiefs, but which held crackers, beside it a folded paper, and on top of that the wee package of candy.
I had a membership at the library on the corner, so we had books, too, thank heaven! I have always been a fairly regular church-goer; in Cincinnati the limitations of my wardrobe would have made me conspicuous. I had but one street dress in the world, and constant wear in rain or shine made it a very shabby affair. In novels the heroine who has but one gown is always so exquisitely gloved and shod, and her veil and neck-wear are so immaculately fresh, that no one notices the worn dress; but in real life it's just the gloves and shoes and veils and ruffles that cost the most money, yet their absence stamps you ill-bred in the eyes of other women. Therefore I knew the inside of but one church in Cincinnati, "Christ's Episcopal," and only knew that in the spring, when I had fluttered forth in new gown and gloves and things; so Sundays were given over to a late breakfast, a little reading in the Bible, a good long reading of secular matter, sweetened by candy, a calm acceptance (that was puzzling to the Navonis) of a shadowy dinner, a short walk if weather permitted, then, oh, then! a locked door, a small tea-pot, a tiny saucepan (we had not the bliss of owning a chafing-dish), and presently we sat enjoying, to the last spoonful, a hot and delicious stew, a pot of tea, that brought to mind many stories and made old jokes dance forth with renewed youth, and kept us loitering over our small banquet in a quite disgraceful way. Then back to our novels again till bed-time, and next day, all fresh and rested, I began my "one and two and three and" before breakfast, and thus won approval from Navoni and started a new week's work under fair auspices.
CHAPTER THIRTIETH
New York City is Suggested to Me by Mr. Worthington and Mr. Johnson—Mr. Ellsler's Mild Assistance—I Journey to New York, and Return to Cincinnati with Signed Contract from Mr. Daly.
To say I made a success in Cincinnati is the barest truth. Almost at once—the third night of the season, to be exact—I received my first anonymous gift: a very beautiful and expensive set of jewelry, pale-pink corals in combined dead and burnished gold. They rested in their satin-lined nest and tempted me. The sender wrote: "Show that you forgive my temerity by wearing my offering in the third act."