Perkins called in the morning. Perkins was happy--Perkins was
positively joyous, and Perkins was self-satisfied. The violinist had
made a great hit. But Perkins, confiding in the white-coated dispenser
who concocted his matin Martini, very dry, an hour before, said he
regarded the success due as much to the management as to the artist.
And Perkins believed it. Perkins usually took all the credit for a
success, and with charming consistency placed all responsibility for
failure on the shoulders of the hapless artist.
When Perkins entered Diotti's room he found the violinist heavy-eyed
and dejected. "My dear Signor," he began, showing a large envelope
bulging with newspaper clippings, "I have brought the notices. They are
quite the limit, I assure you. Nothing like them ever heard before--all
tuned in the same key, as you musical fellows would say," and Perkins
cocked his eye.
Perkins enjoyed a glorious reputation with himself for bright sayings,
which he always accompanied with a cock of the eye. The musician not
showing any visible appreciation of the manager's metaphor, Perkins
immediately proceeded to uncock his eye.
"Passed the box-office coming up," continued this voluble enlightener;
"nothing left but a few seats in the top gallery. We'll stand them on
their heads to-morrow night--see if we don't." Then he handed the
bursting envelope of notices to Diotti, who listlessly put them on the
table at his side.
"Too tired to read, eh?" said Perkins, and then with the advance-agent
instinct strong within him he selected a clipping, and touching the
violinist on the shoulder: "Let me read this one to you. It is by Herr
Totenkellar. He is a hard nut to crack, but he did himself proud this
time. Great critic when he wants to be."
Perkins cleared his throat and began: "Diotti combines tremendous
feeling with equally tremendous technique. The entire audience was
under the witchery of his art." Diotti slowly negatived that statement
with bowed head. "His tone is full, round and clear; his
interpretation lends a story-telling charm to the music; for, while we
drank deep at the fountain of exquisite melody, we saw sparkling within
the waters the lights of Paradise. New York never has heard his equal.
He stands alone, pre-eminent, an artistic giant."
"Now, that's what I call great," said the impresario, dramatically;
"when you hit Totenkellar that way you are good for all kinds of money."
Perkins took his hat and cane and moved toward the door. The violinist
arose and extended his hand wearily. "Good-day" came simultaneously;
then "I'm off. We'll turn 'em away to-morrow; see if we don't!"
Whereupon Perkins left Diotti alone in his misery.