there. They give you a so-called audition. You sing one song and everybody has ecstasies. They speak softly and carry a big stick. Do you know where you come in? You come in for a thousand dollars.”
Dorothy studied the floor thoughtfully.
“Isn’t that terrible?” she said. “Of course, I suppose I'll have to give a recital sooner or later, and I thought this——”
She made a disconsolate gesture.
Tommy moved closer to her and tried to take her hand in a paternal way. Dorothy resisted his effort.
“Listen, Dot," said Tommy. “I know a man who really is on the inside. He’s a critic for a big musical paper. I can give you a note to him and he'll hear you, and he’ll tell you what to do. He knows what he’s talking about, and he hasn’t anything to gain by it. His name’s Oscar Fleming. Maybe you’ve seen some of his articles.”
He resumed his attempt to hold Dorothy’s hand. This time Dorothy recognized the advance officially. If he couldn’t take an unspoken hint-
“Don’t, please, Tommy,” she said. “I really don’t like it. Girls don’t, Tommy.”
Generalizations removed any seeming confession of prudery.
Tommy overlooked the customary speech about her hands being cold. He admitted defeat by relighting a pipe which was glowing adequately.
“Anyhow,” he continued, “it’ll be worth your while going to see him. I’ll write to him about you, so all you'll have to do is drop in on him—he’s always in mornings— and then you'll get straight advice.”
“That’s very kind of you, Tommy. But I don’t want to put you to the trouble——”
[83]
