I was a general utility member of the company, and sang to fill in the chinks. We sang four times a week, and I received twenty-five dollars each time--that is, one hundred dollars a week--not bad for inexperienced seventeen, although Muzio regarded the tour for me as merely educational and part of my training. My mother travelled with me, for she never let me out of her sight. Yet, even with her along, the experience was very strange and new and rather terrifying. I had no knowledge of stage life, and that first _tournée_ was comprised of a series of shocks and surprises, most of them disillusioning. We opened in Pittsburg, and it was there, at the old Monongahela House, that I had my first exhibition of Italian temperament, or, rather, temper! When we arrived, we found that the dining-room was officially closed. We were tired out after a long hard trip of twenty-four hours, and, of course, almost starved. We got as far as the door, where we could look in hungrily, but it was empty and dark. There were no waiters; there was nothing, indeed, except the rows of neatly set tables for the next meal. Brignoli demanded food. He was very fond of eating, I recall. And, in those days, he was a sort of little god in New York, where he lived in much luxury. When affairs went well with him, he was not an unamiable man; but he was a selfish egotist, with the devil's own temper on occasion. The landlord approached and told us that the dinner hour was past, and that we could not get anything to eat until the next meal, which would be supper. And oh! if you only knew what supper was like in the provincial hotel of that day! Brignoli was wild with wrath. He would start to storm and shout in his rage, and would then suddenly remember his voice and subside, only to begin again as his anger rose in spite of himself. It was really amusing, though I doubt if anyone appreciated the joke at the moment. At last, as the landlord remained quite unmoved, Brignoli dashed into the room, grabbed the cloth on one of the tables near the door and pulled it off--dishes, silver, and all! The crash was terrific, and naturally the china was smashed to bits. "You'll have to pay for that!" cried the landlord, indignantly. "Pay for it!" gasped Brignoli, waving his arms and fairly dancing with rage, "of course I'll pay for it--just as I'll pay for the dinner, if----" "What!" exclaimed the landlord, in a new tone, "you will pay _extra_ for the dinner, if we are willing to serve it for you now?" "_Dio mio_, yes!" cried Brignoli. The landlord stood and gaped at him. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" he asked with a sort of contemptuous pity, and went off to order the dinner. When will the American and the Italian temperaments begin to understand each other!