ar too young to restrict my actions and bind my future
career in any manner. Besides, with all the excitement of the winter, my
intense emotional nature and the interest I had aroused in musical
circles, she wisely thought it best for me to be withdrawn for a time
from this all-too-stimulating atmosphere, which might later prove
unwholesome and detrimental to serious study. In consequence, I was
placed in the household and under the guidance of a dear friend, Mrs.
Perkins, in Washington, District of Columbia, to continue other studies
in addition to my singing, while I was impatiently waiting to "grow up."

In the spring of 1898, when the war spirit spread over the country like
wildfire, my mother and I were taken to the White House one pleasant
afternoon to call upon Mrs. McKinley. The President's wife received us
in the Blue Room, while Mr. McKinley was occupied in his private office
with engrossing business connected with the war. Suddenly the official
news came of Dewey's great victory at Manila. The President, with the
official dispatches in his hand, entered the room where his devoted wife
was surrounded by a sympathetic group of friends. In turn we were each
presented to Mr. McKinley, and then, thrilled by the announcement of the
victory, Mrs. McKinley asked me to sing "The Star-Spangled Banner."

There was a piano in the room, for Mrs. McKinley was intensely devoted
to music. I played my own accompaniment, and, stirred by the glorious
news and inspired by the presence of the President and his wife and the
compliment of being asked to sing the national anthem in the White
House, I sang with all the ardor and intensity of which my nature was
capable. I have sung "The Star-Spangled Banner" many times since, but
only once under such inspiring circumstances, when, at that dramatic
moment after the tragedy of the Lusitania, I called upon the crowded
house at the Metropolitan Opera (a benefit performance of "Carmen") to
join me in our national hymn. Garbed in Columbia's robes, with two Red
Cross nurses at my side, the tableau awoke thunderous applause and the
great house joined in the singing with a will!

CHAPTER V

I REFUSE TO SING AT THE METROPOLITAN

Through Miss Thursby I met Dr. Holbrook Curtis, the eminent New York
throat specialist, and became his patient; his unfailing, kindly
interest and loyal friendship did much for me. One of the amusing events
of that early spring of 1898 was a society puppet