She shook her head sadly, and once more I filled up her glass.
She prattled on with many a gracious smile, and I ordered another bottle of wine. In the next box I could hear the squeaky laugh of Hard-pan Henry and the teasing tones of his inamorata. The visits of the Black Prince to this box with fresh bottles had been fast and furious, and at last I heard the woman cry in a querulous voice: "Say, that black man coming in so often gives me a pain. Why don't you order a case?"
Then the man broke in with his senile laugh:
"All right, Lulu, whatever you say goes. Say, Prince, tote along a case, will you?"
Surely, thought I, there's no fool like an old fool.
A little girl was singing, a little, winsome girl with a sweet childish voice and an innocent face. How terribly out of place she looked in that palace of sin. She sang a simple, old-world song full of homely pathos and gentle feeling. As she sang she looked down on those furrowed faces, and I saw that many eyes were dimmed with tears. The rough men listened in rapt silence as the childish treble rang out:
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"Darling, I am growing old; Silver threads among the gold Shine upon my brow to-day; Life is fading fast away." |
Then from behind the scenes a pure alto joined in and the two voices, blending in exquisite harmony, went on:
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"But, my darling, you will be, will be, Always young and fair to me. Yes, my darling, you will be Always young and fair to me." |
As the last echo died away the audience rose as one man, and a shower of nuggets pelted on the stage. Here was something that touched their hearts, stirred in them strange memories of tenderness, brought before them half-forgotten scenes of fireside happiness.