The other was a German, well dressed, but vulgar in appearance, and wearing a diamond stud that resembled the headlight of an engine.
“I tell you, we’d beat them hands down if it wasn’t for Carlotta,” the German was saying. “We open the same night, and we’ve got to beat them! And we can do it if we can get one more first-class singer.”
“If I could only have got Carlotta to sing my song,” said his companion, sighing, “it would have been the hit of the evening, but it was just my luck not to get her.”
“She’s their winning card,” began the German again, but with a sudden exclamation his companion interrupted him.
“Great Jerusalem, Otto, just hear that voice! Who the mischief is she? Quick! She’s down here with that preacher!”
“A regular Patti!” cried the German, hurrying.
“Bosh! Patti isn’t in it with that girl!” was the answer. “Why, her voice is like a lark—it’s as fresh as a wild flower! And that’s about what she is,” he added as he caught sight of the singer.
Both men stood spellbound as Marion finished the hymn. They had removed their hats almost involuntarily as they listened.
As Marion’s last note died away she looked around in embarrassment. The spell of exaltation had left her—she was almost frightened.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Haley in his cordial way. “That was a treat, indeed, and the hymn is a grand one.”