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Updated: June 21, 2025
Every man's a Ransdell at heart where pretty women are concerned." She did not leave the building. She went to the elevator and asked the boy where she could find Signor Moldini. His office was the big room on the third floor where voice candidates were usually tried out, three days in the week. At the moment he was engaged.
She read the words aloud, laughing at their silly sentimentality, she and Moldini and Crossley making jokes about it. Soon she said: "I'm ready." She sang it well. She asked them to let her try it again. And the second time, with the words in her mind and the simple melody, she was able to put expression into it and to indicate, with restraint, the action. Crossley came down the aisle.
The cold got better, got worse, got better. But her throat became queer, and at last her voice left her. She was ashamed to go to Moldini in such a condition. She dropped in upon Hicks, the throat specialist. He "fixed her up" beautifully with a few sprayings. A week and her voice left her again, and Hicks could not bring it back. As she left his office, it was raining an icy, dreary drizzle.
"Voice like a bird, face like an angel only not TOO good, no, not TOO good. But it is so rare to look as one sings, to sing as one looks." For once, compliment, sincere compliment from one whose opinion was worth while, gave Mildred pain. She burst out with her news: "Signor Moldini, I've lost my place in the company. My voice has gone back on me."
The name was caught up by other voices and repeated again and again, more and more remotely. A moment, and a small dark man with a superabundance of greasy dark hair appeared. "Miss Gower," said Crossley, "this is Signor Moldini. He will play your accompaniments." Then to the little Italian, "Piano on the stage?" "Yes, sir." To Mildred with a smile, "Will you try?" She bent her head.
He went up the steps with her, said: "Well, I wish you luck. Moldini is the best teacher in America." "How did you know Moldini was to teach me?" exclaimed she. He smiled, put out his hand in farewell. "Crossley told me. Good-by." "He told Crossley! I wonder why."
When the note was on its way, she threw out all her medicines, and broke the new spraying apparatus Hicks had instructed her to buy. She went back to the Rivi regime. A week passed, and she was little better. Two weeks, and she began to mend. But it was six weeks before the last traces of her folly disappeared. Moldini said not a word, gave no sign.
And she knew that, except by chance, he would never see her again or she him. Moldini, disheveled and hysterical with delight and suspense, was in the drawing-room had been there half an hour. At first she could hardly force her mind to listen; but as he talked on and on, he captured her attention and held it.
"Well, let's see. Come with me, please." They went out by a door into the hall, went back to the rear of the building, in at an iron door, down a flight of steep iron skeleton steps dimly lighted. Mildred had often been behind the scenes in her amateur theatrical days; but even if she had not, she would have known where she was. Crossley called, "Moldini! Moldini!"
Mildred, seated in the tiny anteroom, heard through the glass door a girl singing, or trying to sing. It was a distressing performance, and Mildred wondered that Moldini could be so tolerant as to hear her through. He came to the door with her, thanked her profusely, told her he would let her know whenever there was an opening "suited to your talents."
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