The Triumph of Virginia Dale Part 18

"Mr. Dale," he greeted the manufacturer in a big booming voice, "I am glad to welcome you to the Home."

Obadiah genially returned the salutation of Colonel Ryan. That officer, being a man of rank, in charge of the Soldiers' Home, with power of recommendation in government purchases, was one whose acquaintance it was wise for even wealthy mill owners to cultivate.

When presented to Virginia, the Colonel bowed deeply. "I want you to come up to the house and meet Mrs. Ryan," he urged. "You can hear the music more comfortably there. I am proud of my band. They are old fellows like you and me, Dale, but give them a horn and they have lots of musical 'pep' left."

Mrs. Ryan met them at the head of the porch steps. "You have often heard me speak of Mr. Dale," the Colonel, discreetly noncommittal as to his manner of speaking, reminded her.

"Oh, yes, and I have heard of you, too." She smiled at Virginia and explained to Obadiah, "I happen to have a good friend in that splendid Mrs. Henderson, your neighbor."

The mill owner received this information with little enthusiasm, but, learning that Mrs. Ryan was a victim of rheumatism, he advocated the use of a liniment prepared by his father and applied with remarkable results to both man and beast. Obadiah was hazy upon the mixture's ingredients but was clear upon its curative qualities. Mrs. Ryan evincing marked interest, the manufacturer entertained her with the intimate details of miraculous recoveries.

Neither Virginia nor the Colonel being rheumatic, they failed to give Obadiah's discourse the rapt interest of a true brother in pain. Their attention wavered, wandered and failed, and the band played a cras.h.i.+ng air; but the rheumatic heeded not.

All hope of a general conversation having departed, the Colonel praised his band to Virginia. "Every man in that organization is over sixty years old," he bragged. "They get as much pleasure out of playing as their audience does from their concert. It's a great band."

"They _do_ play well," the girl agreed. "I don't wonder that you are proud of them. I love a bra.s.s band, myself. You do, too, Colonel Ryan.

I can tell by your face, when they play."

The Colonel grinned boyishly. "Yes," he admitted, "I think a band is one of humanity's boons. I can't get close enough to one, when they are playing, to satisfy me. I have to have some sort of an excuse to do that, now-a-days--you'll do fine--let's go nearer."

The medical lecture was disturbed, that the audience might nod understandingly to its husband, as they departed.

The Colonel chatted gaily. In the presence of a pretty woman he was a typical soldier. About them were the benches filled with the white headed veterans, as they entered the square. But a few years and these had been the fighting men of the country--its defence--playing parts modest or heroic on a hundred half forgotten battle fields. Now, they, too, bowed with age, rested in their years, and waited--waited calmly, as true soldiers should, with the taste of good tobacco upon their lips and the blare of martial music in their ears, the coming of the ever nearing shadow.

"Why have I never heard this band down town, Colonel Ryan? It is a shame when they play so beautifully. Do they charge for concerts?"

asked Virginia, as an idea developed behind the blue eyes.

"People want young and handsome men to play for them if they pay for it," laughed Colonel Ryan. "So my old codgers don't get many chances of that sort."

"Who has charge of the band?" Virginia's manner meant business.

The Colonel loved a pretty face. He was enjoying himself. "Do you want to object to the leader about his interpretation of a favorite air?"

"Don't tease, Colonel Ryan," she protested. "I want to know who has authority to make engagements for the band. Please be serious."

"You frighten me into submission, Miss Dale. Do you wish to engage the band?"

"I do, Colonel Ryan." The girl's voice was almost imploring.

He looked down into the depths of the pleading eyes. Never in his long life had he refused a pretty woman anything, and it is doubtful if he could have done so. Yet, he desired to prolong the pleasure of the moment. "May I ask, without undue curiosity, for what purpose you desire the organization?"

"I want them to give a concert for the old ladies at the Lucinda Home,"

she explained.

Colonel Ryan choked. He recovered himself quickly. Military training is of value in difficult moments.

"I was over there this afternoon, Colonel Ryan. The place was so lonesome that I thought it needed some excitement. They asked me to give an entertainment. Your band would be the very thing. It plays so loud that even the deaf ladies could hear."

He who had borne the burden of a regiment of men bowed sympathetically, but his face and neck displayed symptoms of apoplexy.

"The Lucinda Home is a graveyard, Colonel Ryan. When I see all of these old men sitting around and talking and smoking while the band plays lively airs to them, it makes me sorry for those women. I should love to live here. But I should die over there. It is dreadful to be lonesome."

Colonel Ryan agreed with great gravity.

Virginia waxed forceful. "Those old ladies should be made as happy as these soldiers," she argued. "Isn't a woman as good as a man, Colonel Ryan?"

The Commandant by his silence refused this challenge to a discussion upon woman's rights.

"Those old ladies should have everything that these men have,"

maintained the girl, with great emphasis.

"Including tobacco?" suggested the Colonel solicitously.

"Of course not." Blue eyes snapped indignantly.

The boyish look was back in the Colonel's face. "I only wanted to be sure," he explained soberly. "It has a very important place here."

"Oh, Colonel Ryan, you will joke, and I am so in earnest." Her eyes were dark and tender and a soft pink flushed her cheeks. "A concert at the Lucinda Home would be a wonderful thing if I could get your band."

"You can," the Colonel promised, laconically, "and it won't cost you a cent." He became enthusiastic, "It will be a fine treat for the old ladies and my boys will enjoy it, too. I'll have to warn the old rascals about flirting," he chuckled. "They think that they are regular devils among the ladies. I think that I will have to come along myself to keep the old boys from breaking any ancient hearts."

"Will you come, Colonel Ryan?"

"Surely. You may count on me. Are there to be refreshments?"

"Why--yes!" She had never given a thought to them before, and when she considered the food that it would take it almost frightened her.

"My old boys can eat as well as ever, particularly if it is soft stuff.

That band has less teeth than any similar organization in the world. It is the toothless wonder," chuckled the Colonel. "Be sure that you have plenty to eat."

As they ascended the steps of the Colonel's porch, Virginia warned him, "Don't mention the concert to my father. I want to surprise him."

They found that Obadiah had exhausted his praises of the marvelous liniment. Mrs. Ryan was now talking, and, though the subject-matter was the same, the mill owner was not a reciprocal listener. He felt that an immediate departure for home was necessary.

The Dale car rolled away from the Soldiers' Home, leaving the Commanding Officer standing, hat in hand, upon the curb. A broad smile broke over his face. "A band concert at the Lucinda Home," he chuckled. "You might as well give one out in the cemetery." His face softened. "Bless her heart," he whispered, as he turned back towards his house.

CHAPTER IX

HEZEKIAH HAS A SOLUTION

Mr. Jones had finished transcribing Obadiah Dale's morning dictation and awaited a fitting moment to place the letters before the manufacturer to receive his signature. Meanwhile, he smoked a cigarette and, with his face sadly distorted on account of the smoke, manicured his nails with his pocket knife.

This important part of a gentleman's toilet would gladly have been left by Mr. Jones to a professional manicurist, because of the more skilled attention and the valuable social privileges attached to such services, had not the chronically depleted condition of his purse demanded the exercise of rigorous economy.

In the glare of the pendant bulb, Kelly was engaged artistically in the preparation of a crude but libelous cartoon of the stenographer.