she pointedly put it, “bold with men.” She so enjoyed an opportunity to
rebuke Thea, that, tightly corseted as she was, she could scarcely
control her breathing, and her lace and her gold watch chain rose and
fell “with short, uneasy motion.” Frowning, Thea turned away and walked
slowly homeward. She suspected guile. Lily Fisher was the most stuck-up
doll in the world, and it was certainly not like her to recite to be
obliging. Nobody who could sing ever recited, because the warmest
applause always went to the singers.
However, when the programme was printed in the Moonstone GLEAM, there it
was: “Instrumental solo, Thea Kronborg. Recitation, Lily Fisher.”
Because his orchestra was to play for the concert, Mr. Wunsch imagined
that he had been put in charge of the music, and he became arrogant. He
insisted that Thea should play a “Ballade” by Reinecke. When Thea
consulted her mother, Mrs. Kronborg agreed with her that the “Ballade”
would “never take” with a Moonstone audience. She advised Thea to play
“something with variations,” or, at least, “The Invitation to the
Dance.”
“It makes no matter what they like,” Wunsch replied to Thea’s
entreaties. “It is time already that they learn something.”
Thea’s fighting powers had been impaired by an ulcerated tooth and
consequent loss of sleep, so she gave in. She finally had the molar
pulled, though it was a second tooth and should have been saved. The
dentist was a clumsy, ignorant country boy, and Mr. Kronborg would not
hear of Dr. Archie’s taking Thea to a dentist in Denver, though Ray
Kennedy said he could get a pass for her. What with the pain of the
tooth, and family discussions about it, with trying to make Christmas
presents and to keep up her school work and practicing, and giving
lessons on Saturdays, Thea was fairly worn out.
On Christmas Eve she was nervous and excited. It was the first time she
had ever played in the opera house, and she had never before had to face
so many people. Wunsch would not let her play with her notes, and she
was afraid of forgetting. Before the concert began, all the participants
had to assemble on the stage and sit there to be looked at. Thea wore
her white summer dress and a blue sash, but Lily Fisher had a new pink
silk, trimmed with white swansdown.
The hall was packed. It seemed as if every one in Moonstone was there,
even Mrs. Kohler, in her hood, and old Fritz. The seats were wooden
kitchen chairs, numbered, and nailed to long planks which held them
together in rows. As the floor was not raised, the chairs were all on
the same level. The more interested persons in the audience peered over
the heads of the people in front of them to get a good view of the
stage. From the platform Thea picked out many friendly faces. There was
Dr. Archie, who never went to church entertainments; there was the
friendly jeweler who ordered her music for her,—he sold accordions and
guitars as well as watches,—and the druggist who often lent her books,
and her favorite teacher from the school. There was Ray Kennedy, with a
party of freshly barbered railroad men he had brought along with him.
There was Mrs. Kronborg with all the children, even Thor, who had been
brought out in a new white plush coat. At the back of the hall sat a
little group of Mexicans, and among them Thea caught the gleam of
