Dorothy's Tour. Raymond Evelyn

those accustomed to hotel life are inapt to think of the trepidation of the novice or new comer.

      The head waiter conducted them to a table in the corner, then handed them his bill of fare.

      “What would you like to have?” Aunt Betty asked Alfaretta.

      “Oh, dear, most anything suits me, just what I would like to have I can’t think. I want just what Dorothy orders,” answered Alfy.

      “Well, Dorothy girl,” said Aunt Betty, turning to her, “what will it be?”

      “I would like – oh, let me see. Can we have oysters, Aunt Betty?” asked Dorothy. “Then steak and baked potatoes. For salad just plain lettuce with French dressing.”

      “Yes, that will do very nicely, dear, and we can have ice cream for dessert,” answered Aunt Betty, who gave the order to the waiter. Shortly after they were served and all voted that they were enjoying a delightful repast.

      “What kind of ice cream would you like, Alfy?” asked Aunt Betty.

      “Strawberry,” promptly answered Alfy, “it’s so nice and pink.” “Chocolate for me,” cried Dorothy. “And for me, too,” joined in Jim. “I think I shall have plain vanilla,” added Aunt Betty, laughing.

      When dinner was over and a very pleasant meal it was, they all went up to Dorothy’s sitting room for a quiet evening.

      “Oh, Dorothy and Aunt Betty, I had just the best dinner I have ever had. I must, I just must write it all to Ma Babcock, she will sure want to tell it at Liza Jane’s.” With that Alfy crossed the floor and entered her room where she wrote a long, long letter home telling her mother of the wonders of a New York hotel.

      “Ting-ling-ling-ling,” bussed the telephone in the hall. Dorothy answered the call saying, “Hello. Oh! Why we are all up here. Where? Oh, yes, in the sitting room. Yes. Yes. Now? All right. Good-bye.” Turning to Aunt Betty, Dorothy said, “It’s Mr. Ludlow.”

      “What did he want, dear?” asked Aunt Betty.

      “He is coming right up here,” replied Dorothy. “There, that’s him now. Didn’t you hear a knock?” Opening the door she found Mr. Ludlow there. “Come in, Mr. Ludlow.”

      Mr. Ludlow came in and deposited his gloves, cane and hat on a vacant space upon the table, then he sat down and turning to Dorothy said: “I suppose, little girl, you are very, very curious to know where you are going to play to-morrow – no, not to-morrow – the next day.”

      “Yes, I am,” timidly responded Dorothy.

      “Well, I am going to give you a treat. To-morrow I am going to ask Aunt Betty to take all you young folks to a matinee. I hope I have picked out a play that will suit you all. I have chosen ‘Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.’ I suppose you are quite familiar with the little heroine, Dorothy.”

      “No, Mr. Ludlow, I am sorry to say I do not know her.”

      “Oh dear, Dorothy didn’t I get you the book to read?” asked Aunt Betty.

      “Yes, Aunt Betty,” answered Dorothy, “but Molly took it home with her. She wanted something to read on the cars.”

      “Well, well, never mind, you will enjoy the play all the more for not having read the story. Here are the seats, Mrs. Calvert. And, Dorothy, I would like you to notice the naturalness of the characters in the play, and profit by it. Naturalness and ease mean a great deal for you, – self possession – poise, my dear.”

      “What about the concert? Where is that? When? Here I am asking questions faster than you can answer them,” remarked Dorothy.

      “In time, in time, my dear,” responded Mr. Ludlow. “Thursday I will call for you here and take you with me to Carnegie Hall, where, my dear, you will render two pieces. The rest of the concert has been arranged for, and the small part left for you will not scare you, but only help to get you used to playing before large audiences. Now, Dorothy child, what would you like to play? This time you can choose your own pieces.”

      “I should like to play what Aunt Betty and Jim like best,” answered Dorothy; “they hear me play oftener than anyone else.”

      “My choice is ‘Das Gude vom Lied,’ by Schuman,” replied Aunt Betty.

      “And mine is ‘Rondo a capriccio,’ by Beethoven,” said Jim.

      “All right, all right, they will suit exactly,” added Mr. Ludlow.

      “Mr. Ludlow,” remarked Aunt Betty, “I would like to take up a few minutes of your time when you are finished with Dorothy.”

      “I shall be through in just a few minutes, madam,” answered Mr. Ludlow.

      “Do you want me to play again in New York?” questioned Dorothy.

      “Yes, just once more, my dear,” answered Mr. Ludlow. “That is on Saturday night at the Hippodrome, at 8.15 p. m. It’s a benefit concert for the blind babies of New York. Many famous people are offering their talent. You do not mind playing there, do you? Your future plans we will discuss later, but that will be all for now. No – I shall have to know what you are going to play there. May I suggest that ‘Southern Medley’ you play so well, and one other piece, say Shubert’s ‘Serenade.’ Now have a good time to-morrow and be ready at one o’clock sharp, on Thursday.”

      “What I wanted to say, Mr. Ludlow, was concerning Jim. He is thinking of taking a business proposition with the Edison Company as assistant in the department of installation,” added Aunt Betty.

      “Why, really, Mrs. Calvert, I hardly know much about that line of business, but judging from hearsay I should say that Jim was very lucky indeed to get such an offer,” answered Mr. Ludlow. “Haven’t you any business friends in New York?”

      “Why Mr. Ford, the railroad man might help,” announced Jim from his corner.

      “By all means see Mr. Ford,” said Mr. Ludlow. “It’s getting very late and I must go.”

      “I will be ready for you in time on Thursday. And thank you, oh so much, for the tickets for to-morrow,” replied Dorothy.

      CHAPTER V.

      THE CARNEGIE HALL CONCERT

      “Oh, dear, what a lazy girl I am. Nine o’clock and I have not had breakfast. What day is it? Thursday, – and Mr. Ludlow coming here at one o’clock. I must hurry for I must practice some,” murmured Dorothy to herself.

      “Dorothy girl, are you still in bed?” called Aunt Betty from the next room.

      “I’ll be with you in just a minute, Aunty dear. I’m most ready. Oh, Alfy, please help me, – please,” called Dorothy.

      “All right,” replied Alfy, “do you need me to do up the back of your dress?”

      “Yes, and that’s all. I’m so late. I did want to write Frau this morning, too,” said Dorothy crossly. “Come, let’s go to breakfast.”

      After breakfast Dorothy practiced and Aunt Betty and Alfaretta took a walk and visited some of the large stores where they did a little shopping, Aunt Betty buying the girls each a pair of long white gloves and an Irish-lawn collar at Altman’s.

      Dorothy was all dressed and waiting for them when they got home. She had on a very simple white dress, one they had made, with just a touch of pink, a small pink bow, at the waist, and a pink hair ribbon. She had practiced the two compositions thoroughly and felt that she knew them perfectly. True, she did feel a slight bit nervous, but in her past experience when she had her violin in her hands she lost self-consciousness and became wrapped up in her music.

      “Dorothy,” called Alfy, “we are home, and, see, Aunt Betty bought me these. They are so pretty and I always did want them. I’m so glad I have them. But you go to Aunt Betty, she has something for you.”

      “You are a funny girl, Alf,” answered Dorothy. “You have been talking away and I haven’t any idea what you were trying to get at. Aunt Betty, where are you?”

      “In