After two slightly more successful London concerts, Paderewski went on a tour of the smaller cities. Poor Mr. Daniel Mayer set out on the road with a heavy heart, for he looked forward to financial disaster. To his horror, Paderewski had firmly insisted that his publicity circulars for the provinces should reprint all his London reviews complete! Mr. Mayer, like every other manager in the business, believed in picking out the best and kindest remarks from reviews and cleverly stringing them together with “...” and “...,” thus giving the impression that all the critics had thought everything was wonderful. Yet Paderewski had vetoed this simple business procedure for a reason that appalled his poor manager. He said it was dishonest. Dishonest! Who cared about honesty in publicity releases, Mr. Mayer moaned to himself. Results at the box office were what counted! And who had ever heard of a rising concert artist with a conscience. It was a luxury he could not afford. [Illustration: _The admiring lady was Queen Victoria._] To Mr. Mayer’s vast surprise, Paderewski’s honesty turned out to be the best policy, financially as well as morally. The people of the smaller English towns felt—quite correctly—that Londoners looked down on them. For this reason they leaned over backwards to avoid following the lead of the big city in making decisions about anything, even the abilities of an unknown artist. The very fact that the London critics had given him rough treatment was a point in his favor. And the fact that he had circulated all of his reviews, good and bad, piqued their curiosity as nothing else could have done. Curiosity and sympathy are a powerful combination at the box office. Paderewski finished his tour with the sweet sounds of success ringing in his ears. By the time he returned to London, his complete triumph all over the rest of England had been duly noticed. The lines formed at dawn outside the box office of St. James Hall on the days of his concerts. His appealing personality and flawless manners quickly made Paderewski a popular figure in London society. He made friends among British statesmen as easily as he did among British musicians. The former gentlemen were surprised at his grasp of so many subjects besides music. And the authority with which this romantic-looking, golden-haired pianist discussed international affairs astounded them. The composer Saint-Saens had, with typical French acumen, already summed up Paderewski’s gifts. “Paderewski?” he had said one evening, shortly after the Paris debut. “He is a genius who happens to play the piano!”