St Ignatius College - Ignatian Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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72 IGNATIAN he had drunk deep of the cup of sorrow. His father plung- ing headlong at an early age into a course of dissipation, the cold hand of death striking him down in the midst of his carousals. His mother-a young wife idying of a broken heart, and her only hope snatched ruthlessly from her tender grasp. No wonder the sad tones of his violin had wrung tears from the hardest heart! Ralph C. O'Connor, my little friend spelled out the name. I am so happy to see you. You write for the news- papers ? Er-yes! I blurted out. It was hard to tell that fibg but I was a detective, and braced up: And if you don't mind we are going to have a chat all about yourself. About myself, Mr. O'Connor, he replied in the quaintest of accents. Ah! but there is so little, yet some say there is so much. So little, I protested, why, your name is famous. You have all the art-loving people of two continents bowing be- fore you, my boy. My name, yes, and his sensitive lips seemed to quiver, and his face to twitch with exquisite pain. My name is nothing, Mr. O'Connor. The tears welled up in the big, blue eyes. What? The name of Achille St. Maurice-Petrosky nothing? It was cruel of me to press this point so keenly, but I saw that I had luckily hit upon the likeliest method of winning the confidence of the child. Listen, Monsieur, I like you, and may I trust you? Oh, but what would uncle say? Monsieur, ah !-if he knew you were here, he would be so mad. Come, Achille, let uncle take care of himself. Don't you fear him. I'll be your big brother, and spank him sound- ly if necessary. At that he smiled, and the cloud seemed to pass from his pleasant countenance. I had visions of uncle, a pompous, little, fat Frenchman, twirling his mustache, and glaring fiercely. So you're not in love with 'St. Maurice-Petroskyg' per-

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LOVEKS' CONQUEST 71 seemed to be calling to me in the accents of my own fond parent, to bring back to her embrace her long-lost son. In a reverie, I walked along Market street. Suddenly my at- tention was arrested by a huge street sign, advertising the Grand Opera Company, lately arrived at the Tivoli Opera House. ' Among the portraits of the stars was that of a small boy, a French lad, with sparkling eyes, small, well-shaped mouth, curly hair. In my rambles through town I had often seen thesame advertisement, the same .portrait, and passed them by unnoticed. But now I felt a thrill of joy. I could 'have shouted with delight, but I remembered that I was on a public street, furthermore, I was a cool, calculating detec- tive. Quickly I had out the photo, and compared it with the billboard picture. Feature for feature it was the same, from the curly locks falling lightly over the high, white forehead, to the rounded chin. Across the photo was written in cramped, boyish hand, Francois Mahe, whilst the billboard ad- vertised Achille St. Maurice-Petrovsky. At a flash my plan of campaign lay before me. Though of a very honest and upright disposition, I would, to the best of my ability, im- personate a dramatic reporter of one of the dailies, and under that character seek admission to an audience with the celeb- rity. With this in view I stopped at the Gpera House on Eddy street and purchased a ticket for the evening's per- formance. : 22 ae: :Q 2.2 4: ff if As the last, faint notes of the violin died away amid the hearty applause of the audience, the curtain rolled down on the first act of the opera. From the libretto I learned that the boy Achille would not appear during the second act, so I determined to begin the assault. In the guise of a reporter I was admitted at the stage door, and politely ushered to the room of the young violinist. My knock was answered by a quaint and timid Come in, and as I offered my card, the boy frankly extended his hand, and we became immediately the best of friends. My heart had warmed to the little fel- low, when I saw him on the stage, charming all by the grace and ease of his boyish actions. And more so, as I knew that

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LOVEKS' CONQUEST 73 haps you like 'O'Connor' better! What's un'cle's name, Archille? M. Gustave Le I-Iallier, he answered quietly. i Aha, thought I, so uncle is also traveling incognito. The letter gave the name of Jean Louis Shampol! Just then the door opened, and a man, dressed in an eve- ning suit, stepped into the room. He was a small, wiry man, his eyes shifted unceasingly, a retreating chin left the irn- pression of irresolution, which, with the cunning that lurked in his beady eyes, gave him a very unprepossessing appear- ance. The villain had entered the scene. I instinctively dis- liked the fellow, yet I saw he was a foeman worthy of my steel. f What does this mean, boy P he growled. I thought I forbade you to receive anyone here. But, uncle, this is Mr. O'Connor, gasped the lad, whose delicate spirit recoiled at the rough, threatening aspect of the angered man. I-Ie is from the newspapers, and wished to know all about my music. The man eyed me cunningly, and then quite taken aback by my innocent appearance, apologized for his hasty conduct. f'Glad to meet you, indeed, very glad, Mr. O'Connor. Pardon my intrusion, but I have to take care of the boy, as he is continually beset by your good people, who are load- ing him with presents, and I am afraid utterly spoiling him. How smoothly the words rolled out. In tones as soft and in- sinuating I answered him: Yes, how often we dramatic writers see that. These child-wonders come to this city, and immediately they are placed high on a pedestal surrounded by the costliest votive offerings. -No wonder their heads are turned. I had talked myself agreeably into his good graces. By the way, M. Le Hallier, is there anything special you would like featured in this interview with your nephew ? No, I think not, he answered musing, but you might express our thanks to your fellow-citizens for the many acts of kindness they have continually lavished upon us. You