The Price She Paid [112]
but alluringly comfortable. Whether for good or for evil or for both good and evil, the geniuses seem in a fair way at last to prevail over the idealists, religious and political. And Mrs. Belloc, without in the least realizing it, was a most significant sign of the times.
``Your throat seems to be better to-day,'' said she to Mildred at breakfast. ``Those simple house-remedies I tried on you last night seem to have done some good. Nothing like heat--hot water--and no eating. The main thing was doing without dinner last night.''
``My nerves are quieter,'' advanced Mildred as the likelier explanation of the return of the soul of music to its seat. ``And my mind's at rest.''
``Yes, that's good,'' said plain Agnes Belloc. ``But getting the stomach straight and keeping it straight's the main thing. My old grandmother could eat anything and do anything. I've seen her put in a glass of milk or a saucer of ice-cream on top of a tomato-salad. The way she kept well was, whenever she began to feel the least bit off, she stopped eating. Not a bite would she touch till she felt well again.''
Mildred, moved by an impulse stronger than her inclination, produced the Keith paper. ``I wish you'd read this, and tell me what you think of it. You've got so much common sense.''
Agnes read it through to the end, began at the beginning and read it through again. ``That sounds good to me,'' said she. ``I want to think it over. If you don't mind I'd like to show it to Miss Blond. She knows a lot about those things. I suppose you're going to see Mr. Crossley to-day?--that's the musical manager's name, isn't it?''
``I'm going at eleven. That isn't too early, is it?''
``If I were you, I'd go as soon as I was dressed for the street. And if you don't get to see him, wait till you do. Don't talk to under-staffers. Always go straight for the head man. You've got something that's worth his while. How did he get to be head man? Because he knows a good thing the minute he sees it. The under fellows are usually under because they are so taken up with themselves and with impressing people how grand they are that they don't see anything else. So, when you talk to them, you wear yourself out and waste your time.''
``There's only one thing that makes me nervous,'' said Mildred. ``Everyone I've ever talked with about going on the stage--everyone who has talked candidly --has said--''
``Yes, I know,'' said Mrs. Belloc, as Mildred paused to search for smooth-sounding words in which to dress, without disguising, a distinctly ugly idea. ``I've heard that, too. I don't know whether there's anything in it or not.'' She looked admiringly at Mildred, who that morning was certainly lovely enough to tempt any man. ``If there is anything in it, why, I reckon YOU'D be up against it. That's the worst of having men at the top in any trade and profession. A woman's got to get her chance through some man, and if he don't choose to let her have it, she's likely to fail.''
Mildred showed how this depressed her.
``But don't you fret about that till you have to,'' advised Mrs. Belloc. ``I've a notion that, even if it's true, it may not apply to you. Where a woman offers for a place that she can fill about as well as a hundred other women, she's at the man's mercy; but if she knows that she's far and away the best for the place, I don't think a man's going to stand in his own light. Let him see that he can make money through YOU, money he won't make if he don't get you. Then, I don't think you'll have any trouble.''
But Mildred's depression did not decrease. ``If my voice could only be relied on!'' she exclaimed. ``Isn't it exasperating that I've got a delicate throat!''
``It's always something,'' said Mrs. Belloc. ``One thing's about as bad as another, and anything can be overcome.''
``No, not in my case,'' said Mildred. ``The peculiar quality of my voice--what makes it unusual--is due to the delicateness of my throat.''
``Maybe so,'' said Mrs. Belloc.
``Of course, I can always sing--after a fashion,''
``Your throat seems to be better to-day,'' said she to Mildred at breakfast. ``Those simple house-remedies I tried on you last night seem to have done some good. Nothing like heat--hot water--and no eating. The main thing was doing without dinner last night.''
``My nerves are quieter,'' advanced Mildred as the likelier explanation of the return of the soul of music to its seat. ``And my mind's at rest.''
``Yes, that's good,'' said plain Agnes Belloc. ``But getting the stomach straight and keeping it straight's the main thing. My old grandmother could eat anything and do anything. I've seen her put in a glass of milk or a saucer of ice-cream on top of a tomato-salad. The way she kept well was, whenever she began to feel the least bit off, she stopped eating. Not a bite would she touch till she felt well again.''
Mildred, moved by an impulse stronger than her inclination, produced the Keith paper. ``I wish you'd read this, and tell me what you think of it. You've got so much common sense.''
Agnes read it through to the end, began at the beginning and read it through again. ``That sounds good to me,'' said she. ``I want to think it over. If you don't mind I'd like to show it to Miss Blond. She knows a lot about those things. I suppose you're going to see Mr. Crossley to-day?--that's the musical manager's name, isn't it?''
``I'm going at eleven. That isn't too early, is it?''
``If I were you, I'd go as soon as I was dressed for the street. And if you don't get to see him, wait till you do. Don't talk to under-staffers. Always go straight for the head man. You've got something that's worth his while. How did he get to be head man? Because he knows a good thing the minute he sees it. The under fellows are usually under because they are so taken up with themselves and with impressing people how grand they are that they don't see anything else. So, when you talk to them, you wear yourself out and waste your time.''
``There's only one thing that makes me nervous,'' said Mildred. ``Everyone I've ever talked with about going on the stage--everyone who has talked candidly --has said--''
``Yes, I know,'' said Mrs. Belloc, as Mildred paused to search for smooth-sounding words in which to dress, without disguising, a distinctly ugly idea. ``I've heard that, too. I don't know whether there's anything in it or not.'' She looked admiringly at Mildred, who that morning was certainly lovely enough to tempt any man. ``If there is anything in it, why, I reckon YOU'D be up against it. That's the worst of having men at the top in any trade and profession. A woman's got to get her chance through some man, and if he don't choose to let her have it, she's likely to fail.''
Mildred showed how this depressed her.
``But don't you fret about that till you have to,'' advised Mrs. Belloc. ``I've a notion that, even if it's true, it may not apply to you. Where a woman offers for a place that she can fill about as well as a hundred other women, she's at the man's mercy; but if she knows that she's far and away the best for the place, I don't think a man's going to stand in his own light. Let him see that he can make money through YOU, money he won't make if he don't get you. Then, I don't think you'll have any trouble.''
But Mildred's depression did not decrease. ``If my voice could only be relied on!'' she exclaimed. ``Isn't it exasperating that I've got a delicate throat!''
``It's always something,'' said Mrs. Belloc. ``One thing's about as bad as another, and anything can be overcome.''
``No, not in my case,'' said Mildred. ``The peculiar quality of my voice--what makes it unusual--is due to the delicateness of my throat.''
``Maybe so,'' said Mrs. Belloc.
``Of course, I can always sing--after a fashion,''