Instinct of some sort made her grasp her violin and raise it. Then she knew what to do. Without accompaniment, in clear, sweet tones she played “America.” Slowly the people rose, rose to pay their respects to their national hymn, patriotism immediately conquering all fear. While she played the poor trombone player was carried out to receive medical attention. All through the three verses of the hymn Dorothy held the audience, and then as she finished and the curtain fell, the house broke out in thunderous applause, for now they realized what this girl had done, what possibilities she had saved them from. So insistent was the applause that Dorothy had to stop in front of the curtain again and again.
CHAPTER IX.
A DREAD CALL IN THE NIGHT.
The next day Dorothy was ill as the result of the strain of the previous evening, and when Mr. Ludlow and Ruth called they found her resting on the couch in the living room. Ruth was eager to talk of the happenings of the night before, but Mr. Ludlow restrained her, saying:
“Dorothy, I am very proud of you, and I want to thank you for what you did last night. The morning papers are full of the news of the events of last night, and now every place you go you will be doubly welcomed and given hearty receptions. It was a very good thing for us as it has given you advance press notices, which are superior and more convincing than anything I could put in for you. You will probably get all kinds of letters from people wanting you to play at private concerts, but keep them, my dear, as sometimes they come in very handy, and you never can tell when you can use them.
“But for the present you must rest, that is, to-day and to-morrow. Tuesday we start on the noon train for Washington, so be prepared and on time. Ruth has much packing to do likewise, so we will go now and leave you to yourself.”
“Oh, can’t I stay and talk?” interrupted Ruth eagerly. “There are so many things I want to talk to Dorothy about.”