THE GIRL WITH A VOICE.

Press, Volume LI, Issue 8780, 28 April 1894, Page 3

THE GIRL WITH A VOICE.

By William Alden,

St. James's Budget.

One midsummer evening the band wai playiugin the Piazza S.ia Marco, and all Venice was there, listening to anything except the music, and seeing everything except the glory of the moonlight tbao flooded the Piazza and convened the cathedral into an apocalyptic vision of the New Jerusalem. The Piazza ia the universal drawing-room of Venice, and every one regards music ia a drawing-room merely as an opportunity for conversing without being ov'erhearil by their nearesD neighbour. In front or the two great cafes, the Quadri, tlie rimhbotcomed chairs and wooden tables had spread far out into ihe Piazza, and eeaiiy every aeat was occupied. As I lingered fo j a moment in frout of the Quadri I noticed an old man and a young girl who were seated near mc, and who were obviously Americans. At the same moment the man caught my gaze and said, "Won't you come and sec along with us, sir? There is room enough if you don't mind setting a little close." I accepted the invitation ; and. when I had ordered my coffee, the man resumed: "I see you the other day speaking witu the porter of our hotel: we're at the Luny—and when you had cone he told mc you were an American. .That's why XlQpfc the libfriy of speaking to you, knowing that you wouldn't bi> sorry to meet with some of your own folk*. Its morn a week now Rence I've seen any Americans except my daughter here, and I do hanker once in a while for a chance to tiling the American language." The man was about sixty years old. H<s was plainly dressed in a suit of clothes that waa as obstrusively American as hi;-, accent, and his appearance waa that of a working man on a holiday. In spite of hi < confessed anxiety for conversation, hi! spoke alowiy and with som?thinK of tho unreadiness of a man accustomed to say Terj little. He had an honeat kindly face, with a certain reserved look of power in his light giey eyes. The daughter, who was about eighteen, was very pretty; and, being an American, was very much over-dreesed. She eat with her profile turned to mc, ond evidently did not ahare her father's desire to talk. Is was a beautifully regular profile; bud there was Bonaethiug of hardness arid 'selfishness about the lips that was not attractive. The girl showed none of thao rather demonstrative delight which the average American girl shows in the presence of moonlight, music, handsome uniforms, and the fasciuatiug strangeness -of Venice. She took no part whatever in the conversation except occasionally feo reprove the frankness of her father. "Do you live here, may I ask?" said my new acquaintance. I informed him that I was, by residence, entitled to call myself a " Well, now, that gefc9 mc," said the man. "I never supposed that any American settled down iv these parts to live. Of cuuree," he added hastily, "I don't presume for to judge no man, and I don't know But you might saj that I'm living in Italy myself. We're staying at Milan for the present, and we just ran down for a dey off, as you might say. My daughter has a vice." I politely expressed utter incredulity as to the young lady's addiction to any vice. "I don't exactly follow what you'rn laying," resumed the man ; •• but I could convince you very sudden that Emma has St a Ant-class vice. We'ie trainin' it a lan, and one of these days she's going to be a primy donny." I saw my mistake, and hastened t< ■ express my full belief in the young lady's artistic future. " I'll tell you how it cornea round that -»ne and my daughter are so many miles from home. Do you happen to kuow Milwaukee? ,, I was compelled to admit that the glories of Milwaukee were as yet beyond my personal experience. "Ivras engineer on the Milwaukee and St. Paul Railroad, and if ever you had took the West-bound day express you would have been on my train—that is, providing il. was at any time during the last seven years. Well, an uncle of mine died and left mc a considerable amount of money. It wasn't no great fortune; but it was enough to keep Emma and mc for a spell without ray doing any work. I allowed to put it into the savings-bank, and keep tight along as nsual; but Emma, she *ays, * Popper, now's our chance. We'll go to Milan, and I'll study for a year or so, and then I'll be a primy dormer and make threeorfour hundreddollarsaweek.' So we Jaat palled up and come along, there being nobody but just we two in the family; and *«'t» been in Milan now for more'n six months. I'd like to have you hear Emma Wrestle with some of these tip-top Italian songs: I reckon it would astonish you some," "Popper i> so foolish," interrupted the girl. •' Hβ is always talking about our *flairs to everybody. Of course. I've-gtot a *oice, or 1 shoulan't be here studying; wit there isn't anything remarkable about

Her father smiled the incredulous smile O£ the fond parent who hears his child ttodeatly underrate herself. "I've took the chances on that," he continued, " and I dont have no fears for the result. I • ' otrn'fc been listening to locomotive *jU3tles all i»y days without being able to teli aflret-class vice when I hear one." "I wish you'd just take mc back to thu noteil" exclaimed Emma. "Then you and this gentleman can talk about rne as ' aiuch as you please. Couie, Popper I I'm tired and want to retire." j * Seeing that the girl was seriously "-T /*oaoyed at her father's confldeucee, I < «URg«;Bted that I should accompany them -, to the .Luna and have a final cigar with _ j *ne old man, hoping to smooth her ruffled , J plumage on the way. liut she refused to ."-.1 ttnerge from her taciturn moodiness, and ; *.\ J»hen we reached the iiotel she bade her i -j) wther good eight, and, hardly noticing -%"% n»e further ran quickly npstair*. ; 'f . You masn't mind Eruma's waye," eaid Vs Jh* old man apologetically, evidently fearH »ng i na d been neriouely hurt. " There I .■•lα t a better hearted girl a-going, but

she's sort of tired and worried ro-nißhr. Just come into the smoSnnK-room hen , , and lee mc ask your advice about so:neIhiusr, will you T' "1 >uppo>*e I'd onghier introduce myself," hv» resumed, when wo were seated in the smokiug-room. "My name's Hoskins, nnd moHt anybody belonging lo the St. Paul and Milwaukee road an toll yon who I am. I never met you before, bar. I like ihti.looka of yuM, and being a* >ou are a re c i:]fTit i.i tliishyer country you cm probably give mc sonic advice. I went to the Co;ieUi iiure the oth«v day, bu nothiv.q: finic f.i i*\ I don , !, rioiib' fiat he's a uif.« -eaouch man, but 1 coaJd sen tb-'t hi vr.-wji'c a family :nan, fellow . ;u.d cjuidu'c understand the i'eeli*ti>; <£ a fiitiicr. Now here's jutt wlist's* t2i7- i:i,iticr. Rrama, »iie's fell iv love with aycuiic Ir'renclwviau in Milan, and wants to* marry him. That's what 1 brought her t!ow<i ior. liojuni; lhac change of s -cup, j;:iiciit have acme effect on her. Bui. you for yourself riiat her mind »\n\. a; ease. «ecms u> bft sot on this Frenchman : Jtntl whzii » .uirJ is •-ot you might a> well fry to mote a umuntaiu, as Solomon

" What ?r,rr. of a young man is this Frenchman ?" 1 asked. •'Taai's just if," said Mr Hoskins. "I don'r know anything about Frenchmen ; bur iv*- always had ; t! . idea that rlu-y »rt a mighty bad ior. Now these yere Italians, con-ide ring that they are foreigners aim Roman Catholics who have never been br.-uebt up in a land of Bibles and Bible privileges ain'f. ho bad as you might think. But thishyer Frenchman is a supercilious «or; of ciiip. who wants Emma ;o give up cultivating her vice and coim; slone with liini and be a countess. It's the fir*r time in my life that I ever said ' No' to Eoima, bat I di.l tell her that I couldn'r to lier inarrviiin: no Frenchman and settling down to live in Paris, which, from nil accounts, is the worsr. town this side of Leadville. But I don't seem to Ret no trmt I can understand in thie matter. Whatever*;* for Enina's happiness I'm ready to do, even if ie means having her live over on t his side for the rest of lier days. I don't blamo the man for,

'* wrantin£C tro i»ir&x~3 —v- lxei-_ man doe», ' ~ a.ncl naturalljr. sslats beinsc vv-lizjr sHe is- Sfcxr * alt hersn-.-, Iren*:]u bert lij-ovr herself! = away. Why, there was a time wheu all J she seemed to care for was her vice— ! excepting, of cours.-, her father; and now . she's ready to give iiy culLivktina *f it. 1 iost to please Freadimaii. "Well. ■ I tafccic very Kind, of-you to Xiv? m? J9\]t ° advice : for I'm In about the tightest place "* I w»3 evrr in, ancl a man wb« ruK-< a train on a single-track, road finds himself in eoine J pretty I ight places once in a while." 1 I did not meet Hosliinn during his s visit to Venice, bur a few weeks later I happened to read in the Milan correspondence of Sior Tomin, the Venetian * Figaro that oneof the numerous American jfh-ls studying for the in Milan h&n i doped wirh a gay young Parisian. I unexpectedly met the man again at the railway station. A tr*in had jti.<<t arrived 1 from Milan, and ;is I passed the locomo : Uve something iv the appearauce of the stoker, who was staying the tired machinery with oil and comforting ifc with cotton waste, attracted ray attention. He. wore the uniform of the company , * servants, and, imagining that he wa* an Italian stoker I wondered why his faca r-eemed familiar to mc. Suddenly I rem timbered Hoskins, ami, turning back to the locomotive, I asked the man if that wa« hi-? name. " That's my name," he replied, " though ' I don'r; look like it in thishyer ricj. I re- ' member you, sir, and I'm right glad to sec 5 you." ' " Are you really working on this road ? " ; 1 asked. '■ "To be sure I am," he replied. "I<: ! ain't very much of a road; but it puts ' bread in my mouth, and so it don't become ' mc to find fault -witb it."

''Mγ Hoslcins." said I, "yon rauefc do rae a favour. lam alone to-night, and I want you to come to dinner with mc. Never mind your dress," I addnd, as be said that he was not dressed for dinner. When Hoskins had rid himself of superfluous oil I took him !o Hie Panada, and after dinner I tried to Ret the man to tell mc his story. " I don t want to meddle," I eaid, "but I should greatly like to know how yon ever came to be wearing the Adriatic Company's uniform." " Why. I needn't explain to you, sir," he replied, " that a man can't live in this country, nor yet ia any other as I know, on nothing. My money having come to an end sooner than I had expected, I had to do something or starve. I had ray engineer's certificate with mc, and I showed it-, to the Consul, and,, he cot mc this job of j firing on th'e Venice express. I can't say nittch'for the-pay, but it is sfcarvinpr, and my engineer is a mighty square fellow... "And your daughter," I asked— ,, where is she ?" . . Hoskins did not answer immediately, for he was in temporary difficulties with « crumb which had stuck in his tliroafc : Hut presently he snid with a cheerful air, " Oh, Emma! She's married and gone to Paris to live. I remember I was telling you about; a Frenchman she wanted to marrr. Well of course she married him, and h« in a first-claes swell, and rich as Yanderbilt." " Do you thiuk of goiug to Paris too ?" I asked. " Well, I dunno aa I do. Paris ain't quite in my line, you sco; and considering that I don't know any French, I wouldn't pfcand any sort of chance of a job on a French railroad." Further inquiries as to his own and his daughter's condition would evidently have been unwelcome to Hoskins, and we conversed for a while concerning; various matters. It was clear enough to mc that the uirl had deserted him : and, from th«> suddenness of lifs descent- into poverty. I suspected that he had given all hie money to his daughter. , " Look here, Hoskine I" said I. *'This country is no place for you. Why don't, you go back to America, where you can ?et a goad situation and lire comfortably. If you don't mind a lontr sea-voyage, there i* a steamer here now that will sail for New York in a few days, and I'll undertake to free you a nassnge." " You're very kind," he replied. " Butl don't exactly want to oto back. You see, something might happen that would make Emma want mc all of a sudden. Beside", one place is about the name a« another to mc, providing she isn't there." " If she has made such a good marriage," I nr£Bd, " she ought to be able to give you a home, so that you needn't work on the railway any more." "Of course, of course," said Hosklns hastily. " She naturally wants mc to come and live with her, but 1 don't care for Paris. What's your views about the next election, t»ir? Do you calculate that the Democrats will have any show of wiuning it ?"

I eaid no more to Hoskins concernine his daughter, but my indignation aeainet that younp. person rapidly prew. When the time came for the man to return to hie work he shook hands warmly with mc. and said that it had done him pood to hear (be American lan&cuage once more. Soon afterwards I received word from the hospital thac an American patient wished to see mc, and I knew at once that it was Hoskinn. He was lyiner in a little iron bedstead, and made an effort to greet mc cheerfully, but I could see that he iri« very weak. I asked him what wae the matter. "Well." he replied, "the doerorn call i Rome curious name: but I call it beinjr tired out with life. They brought mc here « week apo wb.Cn I was too wealfcjo stand, and according to, my idea they'll take mc out feet foremost in a day or two." "Have you sent for jour daughter?" I a«*ked. "Give mc her address, and if you wish it I will telegraph for her at once." " No," he replied. " I haven't told her that lam sick. It would only worry her, end wouldn't do no Rood. The war she is fixed just now she couldn't come to "Venice. , * "At lea*t let mc write her a line," I urpod. " Tell mc where she is." He waited a moment, and then he answered, lookinc not at mc but out of the window. "To tell the truth, I don't know her precise agrees just at present. She's sort of travelling: round you know. She's fond of travelling, is E'.noia, and naturally ! she travels." I sat with the old manual!, that afternoon, and saw that be was steadily sinking. The doctor in charpe of the "ward told mc that Hoskins did not seem to be suffering from any recognisable disease, but that there was a general break-up of his system. I could easily have told the doctor what the matter was. Hoskius was dying of & broken heart. The next morning I was at the hospital, and found that Hoskins was very near hi* end. He knew mc, and feebly remarked that he wa-i sorry to be a trouble to any one, but that he was pretty near the «nd of his trip. He said little more, but lay Tery still, and at times was evidently unconscious. Towards noon he suddenly spoke in a perfectly clear voice. " There's Emma singing. 1 can hear her vice as as plain as ever I did. A wonderful vice that girlV scot, and I did my be»t to cultivate it." Hoskins stopped speaking. Hβ never spoke again; and as he lay dead in hr< narrow iron bedstead the happy Stall® lingered on hie face, which had brightened it as be fancied that he heard the of his idolised daughter.