"Well, you don't need any. Now that I see you--, but I fancied months ago that you were probably getting ready for this. Suppose you sing a little song for me." We stumbled through dim passages to the stage, half-lighted by a window or two high overhead. Mr. Blumenthal sat alone in the orchestra, and I summoned all my resolution, and then, frightened and ashamed and desperate, I sang the "Sehnsucht," following it with what Cadge calls a "good yelling song" to show the power of my voice. Then the rotund little manager rolled silently back to the office, and I knew as I followed him that I had been judged by a different standard from that of an applauding drawing-room. "Well!" said he, when we had regained his room. "You are a marvel! Sing by all means; but, if you must have immediate results, not in opera. Music halls get pretty much the most profitable part of the business since they became so fashionable in London. Tell you what I'll do.--I'll give you a short trial at--say a hundred a week. You've a wonderful voice and no training; but any teacher can soon put you in shape to sing a few showy songs. Give me an option on your services for a longer term at a higher figure, if you take to the business and it takes to you, and you can start in next month at the roof garden." "The roof garden!" I cried out; but then I saw how foolish it would be to feel affronted at this common man with money who would rank me as an attraction among acrobats and trick dogs. "I shouldn't like that," I said more calmly; "people are very foolish, of course, but I've been told that--that if I were to sing in public, my appearance would mark a new era in music; now, I wouldn't care to sing in such a place; I had hoped, too, that I could get more--more salary." "Would seem so, wouldn't it?" said Mr. Blumenthal. "But it's a fair offer. Tell you why. "You'll take with an audience, for a short run, anyhow, if you've got--er--temperament; but I run the risk that you haven't. I spend considerable money getting you ready to appear, and then you're on the stage only a few minutes. Another thing: Most people nowadays are short sighted; you have to capture 'em in the mass--two Topsies, four Uncle Toms, eight Markses the lawyers, twenty chorus girls kicking at once-big stage picture, you know, not the individual. And the individual must have the large manner. Yes, yes; I use you for bait to draw people, but I need other performers to amuse 'em after they're here. They want to feel that there's 'something doing' all the while, something different. Curiosity wouldn't last long; either you'd turn out an artist and--er--do what a music hall audience wants done, or you'd fail. In the former case you could command more money; never so much as people say, though. There's so many liars." "I--I'll think over your offer," I said. "I wouldn't have to wear--" "Costumes of approved brevity? No; at least not to start with."