Susan Lenox: Her Fall and Rise, by David Graham Phillips

touches to her toilet and paraded her to the others, there was achorus of enthusiasm. The men no less than the women viewedher with the professional eye."Didn't I tell you all?" cried Burlingham, as they looked her upand down like a group of connoisseurs inspecting a statue. "Wasn'tI right?""'It is the dawn, and Juliet is the east,'" orated Tempest in rich,romantic tones."A damn shame to waste her on these yaps," said Eshwell.Connemora embraced her with tearful eyes. "And as sweet asyou are lovely, you dear!" she cried. "You simply can't helpwinning."The two women thought her greatest charms were her form andher feet and ankles. The men insisted that her charm of charmswas her eyes. And certainly, much could be said for that view.Susan's violet-gray eyes, growing grayer when she was thoughtful,growing deeper and clearer and softer shining violet when heremotions were touched–Susan's eyes were undoubtedly unusualeven in a race in which homely eyes are the exception.When it was her turn and she emerged into the glare of thefootlights, she came to a full stop and an awful wave of weaknessleaped up through legs and body to blind her eyes and crash uponher brain. She shook her head, lifted it high like a swimmer shakingoff a wave. Her gaze leaped in terror across the blackness of theauditorium with its thick-strewn round white disks of human faces,sought the eyes of Burlingham standing in full view in the center ofthe rear doorway–where he had told her to look for him. She heardPat playing the last of the opening chords; Burlingham lifted hishand like a leader's baton. And naturally and sweetly the notes, thewords of the old darkey song of longing for home began to float outthrough the stillness.She did not take her gaze from Burlingham. She sang her best,sang to please him, to show him how she appreciated what he haddone for her. And when she finished and bowed, the outburst ofapplause unnerved her, sent her dizzy and almost staggering intothe wings. "Splendid! Splendid!" cried Mabel, and Anstrutherembraced her, and Tempest and Eshwell kissed her hands. Theyall joined in pushing her out again for the encore–"Blue AlsatianMountains." She did not sing quite so steadily, but got through ingood form, the tremolo of nervousness in her voice adding to thewailing pathos of the song's refrain:Ade, ade, ade, such dreams must pass away, But the BlueAlsatian Mountains seem to watch and wait alway.The crowd clapped, stamped, whistled, shouted; butBurlingham defied it. "The lady will sing again later," he cried. "Thenext number on the regular program is," etc., etc. The crowdyelled; Burlingham stood firm, and up went the curtain on Eshwelland Connemora's sketch. It got no applause. Nor did any othernumbers on the program. The contrast between the others and thebeauty of the girl, her delicate sweetness, her vital youth, herfreshness of the early morning flower, was inevitable.The crowd could think only of her. The quality of magnetismaside, she had sung neither very well nor very badly. But had shesung badly, still her beauty would have won her the same triumph.When she came on for her second number with a cloud-like azurechiffon flung carelessly over her dark hair as a scarf, Spanishfashion, she received a stirring welcome. It frightened her, so thatPat had to begin four times before her voice faintly took up thetune. Again Burlingham's encouraging, confident gaze, flungacross the gap between them like a strong rescuing hand,strengthened her to her task. This time he let the crowd have twoencores–and the show was over; for the astute manager, seeinghow the girl had caught on, had moved her second number to theend.Burlingham lingered in the entrance to the auditorium to feasthimself on the comments of the crowd as it passed out. When hewent back he had to search for the girl, found her all in a heap in achair at the outer edge of the forward deck. She was sobbingpiteously. "Well, for God's sake!" cried he. "Is »this« the way youtake it!"