mother say. “Her teachers say she is the finest student in the conservatory. Not that I’m the one to boast, especially of my own daughter, but I heard the other day that everyone in the conservatory considers her the most promising singer in years.”
The assembly nodded astonishment, pleasure and congratulations over the teacups and knitting.
“And the finest part of it,” Dorothy heard Mrs. Loamford continue, “from a mother’s point of view, at least, is that Dorothy is the same sweet, dear child she always has been. Her success hasn’t turned her head at all.” Dorothy slipped upstairs into the living-room.
Uncle Elliott Reitz was sitting in the big armchair smoking a large cigar and puffing pompously into space.
“Well, if it isn’t the little prima donna!” he exclaimed as Dorothy came in. “Going to show Galli-Curci how to sing one of these days, what?”
Dorothy kissed him as she had been brought up to do.
“Your mother tells me big things, Dorothy, big things,” he continued. “I can see you as a big proposition in the music game.”
“Please,” objected Dorothy, “wait till I’ve made some sort of start. It’s very nice of you, of course, but-"
She shrugged her shoulders and smiled.
“Sit down, girl,” said Uncle Elliott. “I want to talk cold turkey to you. You're really serious about going into the singing business?”
Dorothy nodded emphatically.
“No nonsense about it, of course,” he continued; “shouldn’t be; can’t be. No boys, I mean?”
Dorothy shook her head.
“No snappy young fellow coming in to put an end to all your work,” he went on. “Fine! Work, is what I
say, and let marriage take care of itself. A pretty girl
[76]
