Another thing: Most people nowadays are short sighted; you have
to capture 'em in the mass--two Topsies, four Uncle Toms, eight Markses
the lawyers, twenty chorus girls kicking at once-big stage picture, you
know, not the individual. And the individual must have the large manner.
Yes, yes; I use you for bait to draw people, but I need other performers
to amuse 'em after they're here. They want to feel that there's 'something
doing' all the while, something different. Curiosity wouldn't last long;
either you'd turn out an artist and--er--do what a music hall audience
wants done, or you'd fail. In the former case you could command more
money; never so much as people say, though. There's so many liars."
"I--I'll think over your offer," I said. "I wouldn't have to wear--"
"Costumes of approved brevity? No; at least not to start with."
Mr. Blumenthal also had risen. He looked at me, as if aroused to my
ignorance of things theatrical, with a more personal and kindly interest.
"Sorry my offer doesn't strike you favourably," he said. "I'd like mighty
well to bring you out; but if you hold off for opera--that isn't my line,
though--mind you, I don't say it could be done; but if some one were found
to put up the money, would you wait and study? Know what you'd be
undertaking, I suppose--hard work, regular hours, open air, steady habits?
That's the life of a singer.
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